


Black Fires Will Rise

by madrabbitgirl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, The Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe 1980s, Canon Typical Violence, Good Omens/The Lost Boys fusion, Human Aziraphale (Good Omens), Imagine Crowley with a Mullet LOL, It gets resolved somewhat, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Potential Ageism & Fatphobic Language, Vampire Crowley (Good Omens), blood drinking and other vampire things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrabbitgirl/pseuds/madrabbitgirl
Summary: After a messy divorce, Aziraphale is ready to start completely over, which means he's left London for the (frankly unappealing) boardwalk of Santa Carla, California. Living with his friend Tracy is jarring and attempting to run an old comic store is entirely out of his wheelhouse, but he'd wanted 'different', right?A stranger, who looks very similar to someone he'd seen on a Missing Persons poster, watches him struggle from the shadows, tempting him in with black leather and dark sunglasses. Will Aziraphale drink the forbidden wine or can he pull Crowley out of the darkness before it's too late for both of them?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), David (Lost Boys) & Crowley
Comments: 39
Kudos: 66





	1. Shangri-Las, I can't forget

**Author's Note:**

> * I do not own The Lost Boys, Good Omens, 'Cry Little Sister' or basically anything else in my life but that’s a different story. I’m not profiting off anything, just dicking around with my dirty little demon hands.
> 
> * The title is definitely my misheard song lyrics, but it sounded so good I couldn't not use it.
> 
> * While this is a tribute to the 80s classic The Lost Boys, you do not need to have seen the movie to enjoy this fic. There are some familiar ideas and themes but it can be read as a standalone fic. The only characters I use from the movie are David (renamed David Morningstar in this, standing in for Lucifer) and Nanook, who is actually renamed Dog but is still a husky. If you’re a fan of The Lost Boys, a movie I must watch once a month or I die, I believe you’ll enjoy the references to the film. 
> 
> * Thank you, as always to MadMags for beta-ing. I did not BritPick but I did ask my British friend a few questions? Does that count?

Aziraphale Fell took in a deep breath and immediately almost gagged. 

He wanted to believe that the ocean air was refreshing, and it _was_ , in it’s own way, but there were several other less pleasant smells wafting on the late autumn breeze. His sensitive nose could pick out notes of stale reefer, dead fish and a vague rancidity that left him feeling uneasy and vaguely nauseated. His heart twisted with doubt. Perhaps this whole move had been too far of a leap. To leave his comfortable life behind and plunge into something unknown was really just not at all like him. Aziraphale was a man who enjoyed comforts and soft things, not this uneasy turmoil that he’d been thrust into. 

“Stinks, doesn’t it?” the stranger behind the counter asked. It was one of those little kiosk petrol stations where there wasn’t much more than a booth in a lot. He turned to the man with a nervous smile that didn’t touch his eyes, trying to maintain a veneer of positivity and he let out a musical, jittery laugh. 

“Oh! No, it’s quite lovely, really,” he assured the man. He took in the stranger’s dirty coveralls and the name badge sewn just over the breast pocket. “Sarge”, it read. Aziraphale frowned. Well, he couldn’t very well judge the man on the strangeness of a name, could he? Not with the one he was carrying with him. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. He just wanted to pay for his petrol- gas, wasn’t it? He was in America now, after all. “I, ehm. I noticed an interesting bit of graffiti just over there, on the back of that billboard, when I was driving in.” 

“Yeah? What about it?” Sarge asked. “You’re on pump two? That’s five sixty-two.” 

Aziraphale pulled the bills from his wallet. “Well, it just seems a bit _unwelcoming_ , you know. Murder capitol of the world?” 

“It’s not really a lie.” Sarge busied himself with counting out the coins, grunting and groaning as he made change. “One of my friends told his grandkids once that if all the dead bodies buried around here were to stand up at once we’d have a population problem. I agree with him.” 

“Ah. Yes, I suppose that’s true of many places,” Aziraphale replied, scooping up the coins as they were slid across the counter at him. Sarge raised his eyebrows.

“You’re not from around here. What are you, from Vermont or somethin’?” 

“London, actually.” The man stared at Aziraphale blankly. Aziraphale’s smile weakened further, shifting into a wince. “You know. London? England? Across the pond?” 

“It’s going to be an adjustment for ya living here,” Sarge said, looking Aziraphale over thoughtfully. 

Aziraphale nodded, ready to retreat. “I’m sure I’ll manage. Thank you.” 

There were so many things about America that Aziraphale was sure he’d never enjoy. The drive to the town of Santa Carla had been a learning experience. Everything was so spread out here. The ocean air he’d hoped would cure his aching soul was, instead, quite shit if he were being honest. And Tracy lived further out of town so walking was probably not an option, meaning he was stuck with the awkward driving situation. 

But anything was better than the farce he’d been living back home.

Tracy’s house, which she’d generously opened to her old friend, was a large, rambling wooden building she called the Lodge. He hadn’t expected it to be as big as it was, or as beautiful. She waited for him on the front porch, waving as he drove up the long, dusty driveway. 

“You’re here! You’re here!” Tracy called excitedly, running down the stairs to give him a hug. “I’ve been so excited all day and now you’re here and I can’t believe it!” 

Aziraphale allowed himself to be swept into her excitement. He pressed their cheeks together and made a kissing noise. “My dear! You look lovely! You’ve hardly aged since the last time I saw you.” 

“Flatterer! I thought about pretending to be dead and giving you a scare but it seemed cruel what with everything you’ve been through recently,” Tracy told him with a bright smile. He admired Tracy’s joie de vivre. After inheriting the lodge from her parents, she’d certainly leaned hard into the eclectic, bohemian aesthetic that she’d loved back in their university days. “I’m just going to warn you now, I’ve recently taken up a new hobby that can be a little shocking for some people, but as long as you stay out of the work room I’m sure we’ll get along well.” 

“Oh? Are you making art again?” Aziraphale asked. She wrinkled her nose and winked at him.

“Sort of. I could only do my other career for so long, you know, before clients start complaining about your tits drooping to your knees,” Tracy told him. She led him into the cavernous living room as she spoke. It was tall, open and the exposed beams gave it the feel of a rustic mountain cabin. The décor was just as unique as it’s owner. He watched her reach for a sliding door and became immediately uncomfortable as she revealed the contents of her ‘work room’. 

“I’ve recently taken up taxidermy. It’s all animals, I promise, no humans,” Tracy said, pausing for dramatic effect before adding a, “Yet.” 

Aziraphale laughed with her, but he wasn’t sure he believed her at all. 

“I can show you upstairs to your room, if you’d like. Do you have any bags with you? I’ll help you bring them in, that way we can get you all settled,” Tracy was saying and Aziraphale realized he’d zoned out for a moment, entirely disturbed by the piles and piles of bones and antlers laying on the long wooden table. “Earth to Aziraphale?” 

“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” he plastered his friendly customer-service smile back on his face. “Jet lag and all that. I must have gotten lost for a moment.” 

“That’s alright, sweetie. I’m just glad you’re here,” Tracy told him, reaching over to embrace him once more. She rubbed his back a bit before pulling back, always a bit of a mother hen even though they were the same age. “It’s a lot to take in. The divorce, moving across America, the brief moment where you think your new roommate is a serial killer. I know it’s very stressful for you.” 

He managed to laugh at that and remembered that this was _Tracy_ he was talking to. Lovely, intuitive, slightly dotty Tracy who he’d met at an exhibit of her early work which had included shaping sheep entrails into lampshades. His nerves started to fade. 

“Forgive me,” he sighed. “I’m a mess.” 

“It’s part of coming out of the closet in your forties, sweetheart. It’s to be expected,” she said. “Tell you what? We’ll save all the box-hauling and unpacking for tomorrow. Today, you’ll take a bit of a nap and then I’ll take you down to the boardwalk. I know a nice little restaurant you’ll like. We can sit outside and drink wine and pretend we’re young and fun. How’s that sound?” 

Aziraphale gave her his _real_ smile this time, grinning conspiratorially at her. “That sounds like _heaven_ , my dear.”

***

The boardwalk was a tornado-swirl of bright colors and sounds. In theory, sitting outside under an umbrella at a small table, watching the crowds of young people go about their evening seemed like a good idea. In practice, it was not quite the night he’d intended to have. It wasn’t that there was anything overly shocking about the… scenery. His lips pursed as he judged a girl whose nose ring connected to her earlobe with a little chain. No, he’d worked in Soho, he saw things. So many things. No aquanet mohawk was going to frighten him. But, America was still different. Larger. Even his new bedroom, with it’s gigantic exposed beams and cheeky shirtless poster of Rob Lowe (a moving-in gift from Tracy), was just too excessive. Fretting certainly set in as he attempted to tear his eyes away from the overly made-up punk rockers strolling in the evening air and refocused on Tracy.

“Alright, doll, let me get this straight,” Tracy said, blotting her blood-red lips on the cheap paper napkin. It clashed horribly with her carrot-orange dyed hair. “You are reeling from a long, drawn-out divorce. You know nothing about running a business in America. You know nothing about comic books at all, and yet you’ve purchased the old comic shop on the boardwalk? The one that was doing so poorly the owner sold it to you, complete with inventory, at almost nothing?” 

Aziraphale was picking at his chicken parmesan with a lack of enthusiasm. Boardwalk fare, even at Tracy’s ‘divine Italian place’, was just not up to his standards of cuisine. (And he may or may not have been judging the cheap, red vinyl plaid tablecloth and the shaker of 'parmesan cheese'.) He knew that the whole point to this move was to try new things, and one could only do that by, well, actually trying them. “Well, I was thinking I’d perhaps branch out eventually. I could slowly filter in some books and maybe puzzles? It doesn’t have to stay strictly comic books, I think. But, er, yes, something like what you said.” 

“It’s a lost cause,” Tracy tutted sympathetically. She reached for her drink, plastic bangle bracelets clinking together. “Santa Carla isn’t really known for being a city of readers. It’s a party town, sweetie. We couldn’t even manage to keep a library open.” 

“Oh dear! Well, I’ve never shied away from a challenge,” Aziraphale fibbed, sipping his own beverage. Shying away from challenges was the entire reason he was in his current predicament in the first place, in a way. It was always easier to accept the disguise of being straight than it was to confront his upbringing, his family- but no, he didn’t want to think about that any more. There was too much guilt, too many circles to go around in, when he allowed himself to consider his previous life. Tracy’s supposed clairvoyance served him well as she appeared to read his thoughts, smirking playfully at him.

“Running a new business is going to be stressful. There won’t be much time to think about all the changes you’re going through,” she said slowly. Aziraphale tried not to blush. 

“That’s not why I’m- That has nothing to do with why I’m-” 

“I’m just saying,” Tracy probed with a coy grin. “Running a business won’t leave much time for, you know. Fun.” 

It was Aziraphale’s turn to be psychic. “You’re curious about my love life? Is that the question you aren’t asking?” 

Tracy snorted and then giggled. “You caught me, dearie. I just want to see you happy. You were miserable for so long.” 

“I don’t know that I’d call it miserable,” Aziraphale said, thinking back on his sham marriage. Claudia really was a sweet woman, in her own way, and they’d gotten along well enough, until the end. “Claudia was a large part of my life. Even if we hadn’t been _together_ for a little while, it might be nice to stay single for a bit. I’m not looking for more romantic responsibility.” That might have been a bit of a white lie. He soldiered on. “I can focus on the things that make me truly happy. Maybe work on my physique a little, too. I’m sure I’m not what you would call _desirable_.” 

“Aziraphale Fell! You take that back!” Tracy exclaimed, giving his hand a playful smack. “You’re a very attractive older man. Loads of people would be happy to have you.” 

“Older man, that’s just it, isn’t it? I’m not really interested in anyone much younger than I am and people in my own age group have probably already paired off, don’t you think?” Aziraphale fidgeted with his napkin some more, leaving snowy sprinkles of ripped paper all over the plastic tablecloth. The breeze started to ruffle his white curls. He looked like someone’s _grandfather_. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m in the same age group as you and I have dates all the time,” Tracy pointed out. Aziraphale gave a patronizing chuckle.

“With married men,” he giggled, waggling his eyebrows. “I don’t think we have quite the same taste in prospective dates, my dear.”

“I never!” she denied, but her laughter was bright and not at all offended. They’d been friends too long to have too many secrets. 

“It still counts if you just neglect to ask them if they’re married or not before you sleep together,” Aziraphale teased. She was giggling with him until something caught her eye, causing her mirth to fade. Aziraphale reached out, touching her hand. “Are you alright? I was only teasing-”

“No, no,” Tracy said, looking back at him. “It’s not you, it’s-”

“Tracy! How are you?” a booming, chipper voice said. Aziraphale didn’t miss the slight wince in Tracy’s smile. 

“It’s always nice to see you, Gabriel,” Tracy said primly. Aziraphale was confused at her tone. He’d never known Tracy to really dislike or disapprove of anyone. Her entire philosophy was so ‘free love’ he thought maybe she’d never quite left the sixties behind. However, the fun in her eyes faded as soon as the man, Gabriel, approached, and while she was being perfectly polite, he had the distinct impression that she didn’t care for the intruder at all. “This is my friend Aziraphale. He’ll- He’ll be staying with me for a while.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m sure,” Aziraphale said hesitantly. Gabriel, who was standing too close to him, reached down to pump his hand with enthusiasm, beaming down with bright white teeth. 

“Pleasure is all mine, sunshine!” 

“Ah, it’s Aziraphale, actually.” 

“That’s such a mouthful, I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it,” Gabriel teased and it was incredibly awkward. Aziraphale met Tracy’s eyes as he let out a nervous laugh and she just rolled hers and shrugged. Gabriel was so cheerful he appeared to border on mania. “But Welcome to Santa Carla! We’re always looking for fresh blood here.” 

“Ah. Yes. Thank you,” Aziraphale replied, trying to smile. “I’m sure I’ll be very happy here.” 

“Yes,” the tall man purred. He was still holding Aziraphale’s hand, seemingly unwilling to let it go. “Well, I run the video store a few shops down. I saw Tracy with an interesting newcomer and I just had to say hi. Welcome to the neighborhood. If you need anything, you can find me in the store most evenings.”

“You’re still pulling that night shift?” Tracy asked, taking a pointed sip of her wine. Gabriel nodded, giving a good-natured shrug, huffing with frustration. 

“I can’t find any kids that want it. All the teens these days just want to run around the beach at night. No one seems to be interested, so it falls to me,” Gabriel said. He rubbed at Az’s hand with one of his thumbs before letting it drop. 

“I’m more of a reader myself, but I-” 

“Nonsense!” Gabriel glanced from Aziraphale to Tracy with his perfectly shaped eyebrows raised, as if to say, ‘Can you believe this guy?’. He looked back at Aziraphale, clapping his hands together excitedly. “We’ll have to catch you up with the times! We have the largest selection of tapes in Santa Carla. You’ll be a regular customer in no time.” He checked his expensive looking watch on his wrist and his Cheshire cat grin faded. “Excuse me, I must be going. It wouldn’t look good for the boss to be late! You’ve got to set an example for people if you want things to run smoothly.” 

He laughed, although Aziraphale couldn’t tell what the joke was or why it was funny. He reached for Aziraphale’s hand to pump it enthusiastically once more. “Great meeting you. I hope I’ll see you around soon.” 

“Ehm. Yes. Quite,” Aziraphale bit out. He couldn’t be sure, but there was something _suggestive _about the way Gabriel’s gaze lingered on him. Apparently, Tracy _could_ be sure. She waited until Gabriel was walking away down the boardwalk before saying, __

__“Well, he seemed keen enough.”_ _

__“Oh, good, I thought it was just me,” Aziraphale laughed. He resumed picking at his dinner before abandoning the effort entirely to sip at his wine. “Is he always so-?” Aziraphale made a vague hand gesture. Tracy snorted._ _

__“Yup, that’s our Gabriel. Don’t- I wouldn’t get too close to him, sweetheart. I know you’re feeling a little low and I was just telling you to get back in the game, but I’m not entirely convinced his video ship is on the level, if you get what I mean.” Tracy slurped more of her drink, avoiding his eyes._ _

__“You mean he’s into something illegal?” Aziraphale dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning closer to his friend. “Like what?”_ _

__“Drugs, maybe prostitution. Illegal video tapes or something?” Tracy suggested. “I don’t know but he’s into something. During the day it’s all well and good but there are some nasty rough types who hang around there at night.”_ _

__“Unsavory types at the video store, lunatic gas station attendants who claim this is the murder capitol of the world,” Aziraphale tutted playfully. “What sort of place did you invite me to, dear?”_ _

__Tracy clapped her hands together, grinning. “Oh, you’ve met Sergeant Shadwell!”_ _

____

***

He wasn’t officially open for business, exactly. There was still so much inventory and paperwork that needed to be done, and he _loathed_ paperwork, but the sun had been shining and he was getting used to the fishy ocean air, so he’d thrown open the metal roller gate at the front of the store and allowed the few people wandering the boardwalk access to the shop. It seemed that Santa Carla was much more of a nighttime town, because there weren’t many people out and about.

“This place is dusty.” The words were spoken by a child, one of four that wandered in sometime in the late afternoon. They were a strange little grouping of children. There were three boys and one girl, and they all had denim jackets with the sleeves ripped off. Like a little gang of hoodlums. Aziraphale was beginning to rethink his life choices. Of course the comic book store had sounded pleasant in theory, but he’d momentarily forgotten the sticky little cretins- charmers! Not at all cretins!- that also came with owning such an establishment. 

“Gross,” another child, a little boy with curly hair, agreed. He seemed more delighted than disgusted. He held a rather large lolly-pop in one hand and with the other had begun to reach out to touch the comic books. Aziraphale cast his eyes upwards in a brief prayer to God, thanking Her for inventing plastic coverings. It would at least keep the merchandise safe. 

“Are you new here?” the little girl asked him. Aziraphale nodded, trying to smile at them in what he hoped was a welcoming manner. (It wasn’t, but they didn’t notice.)

“I am,” he replied brightly. “I just recently took over.” 

The girl frowned and gave him a critical once-over. He shifted, knowing that he looked more suited to a classroom than a run-down shop. His linen pants and creamy tones were a far cry from the previous owner’s ripped jeans and tee shirts. “Do you know anything about comics?” 

“Ah, um. Not as such, no,” Aziraphale told her. “But I’m going to give it my best shot.” 

“But why?” the boy with the curls asked, nose wrinkling and eyes squinting with confusion. “If you don’t like it, why are you doing it?” 

“I thought a change of pace might be nice.” Aziraphale watched the kids walk around the shop, poking and prodding at things. “Is there anything you’re, ehm, particularly looking for?” 

The children ignored him, continuing their perusal of his out of date offerings. The little girl picked up a comic with a hideous vampire on the cover, gazing at him with uncomfortably ancient-looking eyes. “You don’t look like the other guy.” 

“I took over. Mr. Neal decided it was time to retire and move somewhere peaceful, he said,” Aziraphale repeated. The children started murmuring to themselves, eyes excited. 

“It’s the bad ones,” the curly haired boy said. 

“Pardon? The- the bad ones?” Aziraphale asked. He wasn’t nervous, not at all, but children could be fairly creepy when they were so very serious! 

“Oh, um. Nothing. You’ll find out. Everyone does,” the curly boy said. He shrugged. “If they don’t get to you first.” 

“Don’t go onto the boardwalk at night,” the girl recited, in a tone that suggested this wasn’t the first time they’d welcomed someone in this manner.

“Don’t ever invite them into your house,” the boy with glasses said. 

“Don’t ever drink anything they give you, especially if it’s red,” the last boy added, nodding sagely. 

Aziraphale found this little lesson to be entirely unsettling. He was sure it was some silly game, but the intensity of their play gave him pause for concern. He tried to smile, but the corners of his mouth wouldn’t quite tip up properly. “Ah. Alright. Were you looking for anything specific today? Or-” 

“No, we just heard there was a new guy at the comic store. Figured we’d come inspect. I’m Adam,” the curly-haired leader said. He introduced the other members of his little crew- Pepper, Wensleydale and Brian. 

“We’re taking bets on how long you last. Brian says you’ll make it to Christmas but I don’t think you’ll be here more than a month,” Pepper told him. 

“Also, how you’ll die. Because if you don’t run away, they’ll kill you,” Wensleydale said, as matter-of-fact as if he’d been saying the sky was blue. 

“I highly doubt that anyone is going to kill me,” Aziraphale said. His voice absolutely did not shake just the tiniest bit with doubt. Not at all. No doubt here.

The children weren’t buying it either. They merely stared at him as if he were an absolute fool until Adam announced, “Let’s go. I want ice cream before mom finds out where I’ve gone.” 

“Oh yeah!” one of the other boys, Brian?, exclaimed. They started to follow their leader out of the musty store and onto the sunny boardwalk, but Pepper lingered back for a moment. 

“If you meet a boy named Warlock, can you tell him we miss him? And to come home soon?” she whispered, looking at Aziraphale with large, serious eyes. He shrugged. 

“Of course, my dear,” he assured her, skipping over the entirely unusual name of this boy, who was probably her imaginary friend. That was a thing children did, yes? Imaginary friends?

“We haven’t seen him since _they_ took him. I hope he gets to come back. Adam, he really misses him a lot. They were best friends,” she told Aziraphale. He nodded down at her. 

“If I meet him, I will certainly tell him you said hello,” he promised. She gave him a tight smile and then followed in the direction of the other kids. It was as they were walking away that Aziraphale noticed they were all wearing little matching sleeveless denim jackets like some sort of motorcycle gang, and the gang name they’d chosen was emblazoned on the back in airbrush paint. ‘Them’. Interesting.

Aziraphale sighed and then continued his puttering around the store. Their words were bouncing through his brain like an annoying song. If only they’d seemed less serious, perhaps, but they truly believed what they were telling him. The previous owner must have had a terrible, erm, smoking problem, as the shop seemed perpetually hazy. It’s proximity to the beach meant that there was sand and dust everywhere, which was also likely to be a permanent battle. Not that Aziraphale ever minded a dusty environment. He put in a few more hours of work but then decided he was done for the day and started to close up. The roll of the metal security gate was definitely not ominous or too loud, he told himself. It was still sunny outside but the golden light was fading and the night was approaching swiftly. He sighed, walking back down the boardwalk, taking himself in the vague direction of home. His eye caught on a bulletin board that was positively stacked with missing persons signs. It seemed that the children weren’t too far off in their game- people certainly did go missing in Santa Carla. One image specifically caught his eye.

It was a grainy photograph of a man, but even blurry there was something captivating about his eyes. His features were sharp, piercing, but the eyes were large and focused at something off-center from the camera. He was smiling, and his long hair was falling around his shoulders. The softness of his hair contrasted delightfully with the thin angles of his shoulders and waist. He was wearing a white tee shirt that looked immaculate. Before he could see the man’s name, something that appeared to start with an ‘A’, a woman had moved up to the board and was tacking up a newer poster over the older ones. Apparently, her security guard husband had gone missing. 

Aziraphale shook his head and kept moving, feeling sorry for the beautiful man with the gorgeous eyes. He wondered what foul deed had befallen him.

***

Days later, Aziraphale felt certain that he was becoming almost fond of the boardwalk. It was certainly a change from the busy streets of London, but it was crowded in its own pleasurable way. People here seemed inclined to give into all sorts of temptations and he was starting to enjoy watching the show of it all. It was like it’s own kind of theater, dark and alluring. An alien world performing a mysterious dance he was sure he’d never understand. Night time in Santa Carla was very different from day.

He found himself wandering towards a small stage, a little amphitheater, where one of those rock and roll bands was blaring out that dreadful music the children seemed to love these days. Even though he was sure his disdain for the noise was a sign he was getting old, he did appreciate the handsome, shirtless, bodybuilder type that was oiled up and playing the saxophone center stage. After a few moments, he turned away, wondering where Tracy was. She was supposed to be meeting him to grab some supper-

His eyes caught on a thin figure in the shadows. Aziraphale’s lips parted, taking in a soft gasp at the gorgeous creature that lurked there. The young man- no, that was false. The man was somewhere nearer to Aziraphale’s age, maybe only a few years younger. His eyes were obscured by large, dark sunglasses even though it was well after sunset. His jeans were clinging tightly to slim thighs and his leather jacket looked buttery soft and perfectly aged. His red hair, reflecting the gentle light cast by a nearby barrel fire, was like a flame itself, messy and wavering and bright. He angled his head back invitingly and slid a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one and taking a slow drag. 

Aziraphale was staring, and he knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. To look anywhere but at the handsome man. He gulped, watching in what felt like slow motion, as the man exhaled. 

The man shot Aziraphale a wicked grin before turning and starting down the boardwalk, weaving easily in between people. Through some strange compulsion, Aziraphale followed. 

The stranger was really good at staying just ahead of Aziraphale, which was probably for the best because he couldn’t imagine the awkward encounter that would be waiting for him if he did catch up to the man. What would he say? Hello, I’m new to America and decided to just follow you down the boardwalk? Just when he’d thought he’d lost the man, he noticed a flash of red hair climbing onto a shining black motorcycle. 

Well, if that didn’t make Aziraphale just a bit weak at the knees. 

Did he have a thing for ‘bad boys’, perhaps? Maybe. Just a bit.

The red-haired man’s motorcycle was in the middle of a group, an adult version of the gang that had been in the shop earlier. All of them were very… interesting looking, to say the least. A bright blond man seemed to be at their center, with his hair cut in a rebellious mullet style. He was smirking at Aziraphale and it didn’t look very nice. 

Just as he was about to step forward, at the very least to introduce himself to the ginger man, he felt a warm hard clap on his shoulder from a strong hand. Gabriel stood beside him, beaming down, in an awkward half-hug. 

“Aziraphale!” he said in his booming, overly-friendly voice.

Aziraphale, startled out of his trance, glanced back at the group of bikers only they’d started to pull away, riding off into the darkness. He turned back to Gabriel, giving a fluttering, nervous smile.

“Ah. Fancy meeting you here,” Aziraphale managed. Behind them was an obnoxiously neon video store. It hurt his eyes to look at. 

“Are you alright? You seem flustered,” Gabriel said, squeezing again, harder this time. Aziraphale nodded. 

“I’m fine, just a little overwhelmed. You know, all the crowds,” he said. 

“Were those people bothering you?” Gabriel’s purple eyes seemed almost, _almost_ concerned as he looked down at Aziraphale. 

“No, not at all. I’m sure they’re very nice people. Truly, I’m fine.” 

“Excellent! Well, while you’re here, come inside, let me show you around the store. I’m sure we’ll have something you’ll like,” Gabriel told him, steering Aziraphale inside a store that was just as overwhelming as the crowd outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is inspired by the song "Cry Little Sister" from the Lost Boys soundtrack. Has anyone ever listened to the lyrics to that song because it's like 'I fed a bot 100 hours of bad 80s vampire movies and it wrote this song'. 
> 
> Next update _should_ be 10/21, but I'm going through some work drama. This is a completed fic, but as it's in the editing process I don't have an exact chapter count. Stay Tuned! 
> 
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	2. Thou Shalt Not Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Mind the tags, but in case you don't, warnings for self-deprecating talk and homophobic slurs. Kind of.

The Lodge was eerie. It didn’t help that Tracy had decorated with some of her roadkill handiwork so there were dozens of beady little black eyes everywhere Aziraphale looked, watching him with a deadened judgmental expression. First thing he would do once he started making literally any kind of money was to secure an apartment of his own. He couldn’t continue to reside with Tracy. However, it was nice to have someone with him when he needed to get something off his chest.

“I do enjoy being around you, my dear. Claudia wasn’t much for catching up at the end of a day. I suppose that was my fault. We were so distant with each other for such a long time,” Aziraphale told her, settling down into one of the comfy chairs in the large living room. He had an equally enormous glass of wine in his hand. “It got to a point where we hardly spoke, really.”

“And you have something you’d like to talk about?” Tracy asked, waggling her eyebrows and settling down in her own seat with the aged groan of a woman comfortable in her own skin, even with all it’s little aches and bothers. 

Aziraphale chuckled, letting his hand drift over the fluffy head of her grey and white husky, who was gazing at him with giant, blue, loving eyes. The animal was really more of a wolf than a dog, but he doted on Aziraphale from the moment the man had moved in. “Well, it was quite a strange week, if I’m to be honest.” 

“I warned you!” Tracy clucked, wagging her finger at him. She shook her head, dangling earrings clanging together. Her acrylic tips were painted a bloody red and reminded him of claws. “Santa Carla is a, hmm, unique little place. How was the shop? Did you sell anything?” 

He shook his head, taking a sip from his glass with a wince. Whether it was because of the quality of the wine or because of his lack of funds, well, it could have been both reasons, to be quite honest. “Unfortunately, no. There’s a little more paperwork and cleaning to be done before I officially open for business. I had some unusual little visitors! A group of children came by-” 

“Were they all wearing those airbrushed jackets? One has impossibly thick glasses?” Tracy asked. Aziraphale nodded, putting his glass to the side so he could run both hands over the dog's soft head. The poor animal was also named Dog, which was odd but then again, so was Tracy. 

“Yes! I see you know them?” 

“That would be Adam and his little gang. They like to pretend they’re adults,” Tracy said indulgently. “I’m surprised that they’re still allowed to run around without a babysitter or a parent. There used to be another one, I can’t remember his name, though.” 

“Warlock!” Aziraphale prompted. “Yes, they asked me about him! They said he disappeared and I’m to keep an eye out for him.” 

“They’re really very sweet,” Tracy said. Aziraphale snorted.

“They looked like little ruffians,” he said. She smirked at him. “They warned me that I shouldn’t eat what strangers give me. I suppose that means I shouldn’t accept any dinner invitations from overbearing video store owners?” 

Tracy’s drawn-on eyebrows reached her hairline, but she kept her opinions secure in her mind, leading with, “I’d heard that you’d run into him again. He appears to have taken a liking to you, sweetheart.” 

“How did you hear that?” 

“Word gets around the businesses in town. I hear things. We like to keep each other informed, since there _are_ some bad elements around here,” Tracy said with a shrug. There was an underlying warning in her words, Aziraphale was sure of it. 

“I don’t honestly believe I’m his type, my dear,” Aziraphale said, patting his rounded belly. Dog took this as an indication he wanted a lapful of, well, dog and he crawled up, leaving Aziraphale giggling and smothered in thick hair. “When I was inside his shop, he wouldn’t stop talking about someone named Jane Fonda and her aerodynamic exercises!” 

“Aerobic!” Tracy laughed, spilling wine on her hand. She giggled as she sucked it off her thumb. “They’re aerobic tapes or something like that. They’re supposed to be good for your heart.” 

“They look like they’re good for causing heart attacks. Too much jumping,” Aziraphale said with another little giggle. “As I was saying, I doubt that Gabriel and I have very much in common. Besides, I was- I was quite interested in someone else, and he interrupted my attempts at introducing myself.”

His giggle turned into a hollow laugh as he remembered his attempts at stalking. 

“You were trying to talk to someone? You were interested in someone! Oh sweetie, dish! I’ve had the most boring week, I need something good to live on,” Tracy said. 

Aziraphale hesitated and his cheeks heated up. He chose to believe it was the wine (it wasn’t) rather than the memory of his inexplicable behavior regarding the red-haired man. When he finally spoke, his voice had gone soft and a bit breathy with excitement. “Well, you remember, you were running late the other night so I was left to wander on my own, as it were. And there was this man! He was stunning-” 

He could picture the man perfectly in his mind and the image was nearly as intoxicating as the real thing. “I just felt… compelled to follow him.” 

Tracy put her drink aside again and leaned forward, clasping her fingers, which were covered in different gaudy rings, together. She frowned a little, a pucker forming between her eyebrows. “He wasn’t a tall man with red hair, was he?” 

“As a matter of fact,” Aziraphale started, but Tracy cut him off, waving a hand dismissively in his direction. 

“Oh, no! Poor you! You can’t like him,” she said, shaking her head. Her worried expression grew deeper. 

“My dear, again, I doubt I’m his _type_ , but at the same time you can’t put a ban on all of the men in America!” Aziraphale giggled. “At some point-”

“No, no, no, Aziraphale, don’t get me wrong, sweetheart. Of course I want you to be happy! And he’s beautiful, I’ll give it to ya, but he’s a Demon! Or, well, he’s one of the Demons. That’s what they call their little group,” Tracy explained quickly. She reached out to pat his knee as she talked. “They’re quite a rough crowd, sweetie.”

Aziraphale shifted, causing the husky to get uncomfortable and find his way back down to the floor, but it allowed him to move closer to his friend. The concern in her eyes was real. “I had noticed the motorcycles. They’re very snazzy dressers, don’t you think?” 

Her soft smile was understanding and a bit sad. “Yes, they’re all very attractive, but they’re antagonistic towards outsiders. My friend, you might have seen her with them- pretty young thing with long, dark hair? Might have looked a bit like a Victorian ghost? She and I used to have the best talks about tarot readings and occult matters, but then, she was…” Tracy paused, her eyes searching as though she didn’t know the word she wanted, “She was asked to join the Demons. I don’t know why she did it, but- to be a Demon, you have to cut off all of your family and friends. You’re not allowed to associate with anyone that isn’t a Demon. She’s not even allowed to speak to me anymore.” 

“Not allowed? Just- Just because some random group of- of gang-bangers decides you can’t speak to someone that’s- but that’s-” Aziraphale’s heart ached for the man, wondering if that’s why he wouldn’t let Aziraphale closer to him. 

“Yes. To be one of the Demons, you lose everything outside of their ‘family’,” she said, putting ‘family’ in air quotations, bangles and rings jangling. Her lips twisted to the side and her eyes turned pitying. “Aziraphale, be careful. If he’s approached you or allowed you close to him, it might mean that they’ve- well, it might mean that they’ve marked you somehow and I just can’t stand the thought of losing another friend to them!” 

“Never fear, my dear. You’re quite stuck with me. I’m too old to be adventuring off with a motorcycle gang,” he assured her, although the idea of wrapping his arms around the waist of the red-haired man was very appealing, especially with something vibrating between their legs-

“You do need to stop talking about yourself as though you’ve got one foot in the ground, Aziraphale,” Tracy told him, carefully wiping the edges of her eyes. She looked calmed, a bit. “You’re a lovely man. You will find someone, I’m absolutely sure of it.” 

“Thank you, my dear. That’s very kind of you to say. Now, what shall we get up to tonight?” Aziraphale plastered a sweet smile across his face, knowing that tarot readings or manicures were going to be her answer but he was determined to put the entire chat out of his mind. It didn’t matter. He was not going to hear from the red-haired Demon again.

_Until he did._

A few days later, he was puttering around the comic store, enjoying the breeze wafting in from the boardwalk. The night air was balmy and the scents of the different food stalls were causing his stomach to grumble a bit. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. It was a bit later than he’d intended to stay. 

“Sort of a dump, innit?” a voice said from behind Aziraphale as he was cataloguing Superman comics (he was fairly certain he did NOT have them in order). A soft gasp escaped Aziraphale’s lips, although he shouldn’t have been surprised, he was open for business, after all. But he’d been used to being alone. Surprised, Aziraphale turned to find the ginger man grinning at him. Oh, but he looked like a lovely sort of devil. If this were a romance novel, Aziraphale would certainly have cast him as a dashing bandit or highwayman. The only drawback was that he wore large, intensely dark sunglasses that completely covered his eyes, leaving Aziraphale staring at reflections of himself. 

“Oh, why. Ehm. I didn’t think it was so very bad, really,” Aziraphale said. He was practically bouncing on his toes with excitement. The man’s lips twisted ever so slightly upwards, almost amused. Aziraphale shrugged, looking around as he considered the state of the store. “There’s been quite a lot of work to do to get it up and running.” 

“Hmm.” The man’s long fingers drifted over the racks of plastic and paper, pretending to flip a few back and forth as though he were really interested in them. 

“Are you- Do you read a lot of comic books?” Aziraphale asked, trying to keep the conversation going. The conversation in which the ginger man had said only a handful of words and Aziraphale had said a lot of fluff. The warning that Tracy had given him flitted around the back of his mind. If the redhead was talking to him, he’d been ‘marked’, whatever that meant. 

“Nah. Not much of a reader, me.” The man circled, dancing his fingers on the merchandise as he moved. “You don’t look like a comic book geek to me, either.” 

“I- I’m not, not really,” Aziraphale admitted with a shrug. He decided to hide behind the counter and perched himself on a wooden stool. He only felt mildly less nervous. “I prefer more mature reading.” The man glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, somehow seemingly laughing at Aziraphale, who blushed immediately. “Oh, not- I didn’t mean- Books, I meant. I meant that I enjoy reading books, not- not anything like-” 

“Like this?” the man said, lifting up a comic book from a stack. It was called ‘Avenger Angels’ and the cover art featured a rather muscular, suggestive-looking man on the cover. He had snowy white wings and a flaming sword positioned over his white, skimpy loincloth. 

“Certainly not,” Aziraphale said, a smile cracking through his nerves. “You- You could take it, if you’d like. If you find that sort of thing _compelling_.” 

“Mmmnnah. I can’t say I find it compelling. Although,” the man pulled the cover back, holding it so he could look at the bright illustration. “Blond curls, blue eyes, dresses in white. Seems I have a _type_.” He turned his face back to Aziraphale and from the tilt of his head, Aziraphale knew the man was giving him a once over. “I prefer a meatier sort of thing, I think. Can’t really bite into paper.” 

“Oh, Good Lord,” Aziraphale snorted, but he knew from the heat on his cheeks that he was blushing. The man cackled, letting the comic slide back down onto it’s shelf with the rest of the series. “If you're not much of a reader, as it were, may I ask why you’re in here? Or, er. I suppose I should ask how I might help you today. That sounds more polite.” 

“You’d probably sell more by being polite,” the ginger grinned, leaning on the counter. Aziraphale turned his face away, not willing to watch his own reflection in the man’s glasses. “I dunno, angel. Thought you looked like a nice little newcomer. Thought I might wanna come see for m’self. We don’t get many new people. You’re from England or something?” 

“Yes. I ran a bookshop. In London,” Aziraphale said, fiddling with a pen on the counter to keep his hands busy. 

“And you gave all that up for sand and sun?” the man murmured. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the serpent tattoo coiled near his ear and the way his ginger hair fell, so perfectly disheveled. 

“Ah. Divorce, actually. My ex-wife didn’t fancy having a flaming homosexual for a husband and I just couldn’t bear to continue the charade,” Aziraphale said casually, hoping he was being at least semi-funny. The man laughed, and the sound of it was delightful. 

“Went down like a lead balloon, then. I can relate. I’ve never been married, per se, but my parents didn’t take it well the first time I brought a boyfriend home instead of a girlfriend,” he said. Aziraphale tried not to brighten at the admission, but it was hard. He practically glowed. 

“So you’re, ehm, also-?” he paused, unable to finish the sentence, and immediately started scolding himself. It was just a word, Aziraphale, it wouldn’t _bite_.

“Friend of Dorothy? Pansy? Fag? _Gay?_ ” the man said, waggling his eyebrows. Aziraphale chuckled, feeling just a bit foolish. “I don’t like to limit myself with labels, angel. I have the potential to like anyone, as long as they’re interesting enough.” Aziraphale blushed again, although he didn’t feel particularly interesting. “Still, you’re a long way from home.” 

“A bit, yes,” Aziraphale agreed, desperate to change the subject or snog the man senseless, he wasn’t sure. “And are you? From around here, I mean.” 

“Ehhhhh, I’m a bit from everywhere, really. Been at it so long I can’t remember where I’m supposed to be,” the man replied, evading the question. “I’m Crowley, by the way.” 

“Crowley? Is that a first name or a surname?” Aziraphale asked.

“It’s the _only_ name,” Crowley said insistently. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and after a few moments of silence he prompted, “And you are?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Aziraphale. My mother, she was a bit biblical,” he explained, letting the pen drop from his fingers. “Biblically inspired, I mean.” 

Crowley smirked, pointing upwards. “Good timing for this, then?” 

“I’m not sure I understand?” Aziraphale looking up at the ceiling. Crowley snorted. 

“The song on the radio, angel,” Crowley told him. Now that he mentioned it, Aziraphale could pick out the creepy, slow heartbeat drumming of a song. There were some eerie children chanting along as the singer growled out other lyrics. Aziraphale winced.

“Not my type of song, I’m afraid.” 

“Ah. Well, it’s a _fantastic_ song, in my opinion. Real spooky. The kids, they’re saying religious stuff, like the _commandments_ stuff,” Crowley told him. “Thou shalt not die, thou shalt not kill.” Something regretful flitted over the man’s face. “Thou shalt not Fall.” 

Before Aziraphale could stop himself, he’d reached over and patted the back of Crowley’s hand where it rested on the counter. “You must love it. Being a Demon and all that, aren’t you a bit Fallen?” 

Crowley’s face was carefully blank as he regarded Aziraphale for a long time. Then, he extracted his hand and leaned away, seemingly through with the entire conversation. He walked towards the front of the store, calling over his shoulder, “Careful there, angel. You wouldn’t want to get too close to a demon. Might find yourself falling, too.” 

Aziraphale let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, memorizing the sway of those thin hips and the gentle saunter of the man. He managed to call out weakly, “Mind how you go, dear.” 

He received a dismissive wave in return.

***

“Hey, sunshine!” Gabriel said, sauntering into the comic store one evening. Ever since the mysterious Crowley had visited, Aziraphale had been keeping the shop open later and later just to see if he could lure the gorgeous Demon back in. His oversized shoulder pads and white suit jacket over a lilac tee shirt made him look ridiculous, but Aziraphale kept his fashion opinions to himself as he knew no one appreciated his beige linen duster. “Let’s go to dinner sometime.”

Aziraphale put down the book he’d been indulging in, confusion etching itself onto his features. “You’d like to dine? With- with me?” 

“Yeah! I was thinking you and I might get along. You’re awful cute when you’re surprised,” Gabriel said, leaning over the counter to boop Aziraphale’s nose with one finger. “And Tracy and I were talking, and she let slip that you might be interested. We could get to know one another. You know, get _friendly_.” 

“Ah. Well. Ehm... “ Aziraphale could not think of an excuse. His gut twisted along with his hands, fingers wrenching together as he tried to think of any excuse at all. Concerned brows knit together as he tried to remember how long it’d been since he’d last been on a date, making the offer slightly less repulsive. “Tracy told you I might be interested?” 

“Well,” Gabriel said, drawing out the ‘l’ sound. His hand reached over, cupping Aziraphale’s shoulder and squeezing appreciatively. “I might have had to read between her lines, a bit. She gave me some interesting details about your divorce, led me to think you and I might have a bit more in common than I originally thought.” The hand was sliding further up Aziraphale’s shoulder. “And you’re so new. It might be refreshing to get to know each other.” 

“Ah. Well, it is a very flattering offer,” Aziraphale started, but Gabriel rounded the counter to come stand altogether too close to the blond shop owner, looming over him. His hands cupped Aziraphale’s softly rounded jaw, tilting the man’s face up so he could stare into Gabriel’s eyes. They matched his tee shirt. 

“Look, sunshine, I don’t do this much,” Gabriel said quietly, the serious intensity of his words shocking Aziraphale. “You’re not the only one whose been burned before. It’s just dinner. Let’s get together, talk a bit, have some wine. Get to know one another.” 

Apparently the only way of ending the interaction was through saying ‘yes’. Aziraphale shrugged, but he wasn’t enthusiastic when he accepted. “Ah, ehh, well then, I suppose- Sure? It could be fun?” 

Out of his peripheral, he swore he could see a certain skinny redhead appear outside, lingering in the shadows. 

“Excellent! You’re closed on Sundays? Let’s shoot for Sunday night!” Gabriel leaned in to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek, leaving the man a bit dazed. “I can’t wait, sunshine. I’m looking forward to our date.” 

Gabriel kissed him one more time and then practically strutted out of the little shop, his bright white jacket glaring against the darkness outside. The entire exchange felt hollow, like a performance. Meaningless. Crowley waited until the man was out of sight before slinking. 

“Sunshine,” Crowly mocked, shaking his head as he entered. “Is that your boyfriend?” 

“What? Oh! Oh, no, he just- Well, I mean, maybe eventually. He asked me to dinner, if you must know,” Aziraphale replied primly. He didn’t know what it mattered to Crowley. It wasn’t like _he’d_ asked him out. He fiddled with the cuffs on his jacket, noticing that the linen was starting to fray just the slightest bit. And he’d tried so hard to keep this jacket nice!

“Careful, angel. He looked like he wanted to eat _you_ , not pasta,” Crowley said. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped up at his snappish tone. 

“Is it so hard to believe that someone might want to,” he waved his hand towards his body, glaring at Crowley, trying not to feel a bit hurt, “with me? I understand I’m a little late in life to be starting over-” 

“No! No, that’s- erm, no. Not what I meant,” Crowley said. He glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if they were alone, before he leaned even closer over the counter. Aziraphale could almost make out the outlines of his eyes behind the dark glass. Almost. “I just meant that none of us like that guy.” 

“Oh? And why is that?” 

“He’s an assssshole,” Crowley hissed, cringing on himself. His shoulders were hunched over in their leather casing. He seemed smaller today, like he was trying not to take up so much room, or like he didn’t want to be seen lingering in the comic shop at all. 

“If we’re being quite honest, my dear, that’s what people say about you. Are you alright?” Aziraphale asked. He wanted to reach out and touch the man, but something stopped him. Something warned him away.

Crowley leaned back to his side of the counter, glancing over his shoulder again. “S’nothing. Just, maybe, not supposed to be out here tonight. David, that’s um, our- well, he’s- I mean, he’s like our boss, I guess. If he finds out I’m here- But it’s okay. I don’t mind being a bit naughty.” 

The flirtatious line fell flat, as did his falsely cavalier attitude. 

“What do you mean, you’re not supposed to be out tonight?” 

“Forget about it, angel. Just thought I’d swing by. David had a bit of a job he wanted us to do somewhere else. He might, you know, ask me questions, like where I’ve been. Can’t have friends outside of his family, you know, that kind of thing,” Crowley said, rushing the words out all at once. Aziraphale’s lips parted, eyes widening as he realized what Crowley was saying, watching a sweet blush appear faintly on Crowley’s pale cheeks. 

Crowley had wanted to see Aziraphale and had risked his own safety to do so. 

“Oh, my _dear_ ,” Aziraphale breathed. 

“‘S’nothing, angel. Don’t mention it. Just didn’t think someone like that Don Johnson wannabe would be your type,” Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale put a pin in the Don Johnson reference- who was that? Some sort of singer?- and decided to pursue a different route. He hopped down from his stool and went to the front of the store, sliding the metal rolling gate down over the shop, locking it from the inside. Now the store was closed and no one would see them together. The screeching from the old gate was ominously loud, but Aziraphale ignored it. 

“What are you-” 

Aziraphale just continued to lock up and then turned, brushing his hands together to rub off the dirt. “I have a delightful wine- that’s a lie, I lost everything in the divorce. I have the cheapest drinkable red I could find in the back room. Could I tempt you to join me?” 

Crowley’s grin was sharp and quick, a lightning flash across his face, but it was genuine. “Yeah. Yeah, angel. You can tempt me.” 

Aziraphale led Crowley into the small back office where he’d managed to wedge a desk, chair and small loveseat. A plastic bag with a styrofoam container sat waiting for him on the desk and his stomach decided to use seeing it as a perfect time to remind him that he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. “Ah, yes, I’d forgotten.” 

“Well, a bozo like that would probably make anyone forget to eat,” Crowley said, helping himself to the loveseat. If he made gagging noises at the idea of Gabriel, Aziraphale ignored it. 

“I ordered it a few hours ago. Neither Tracy, my roommate, nor I cook and I found this little place down the way that has the most delightful sandwiches. I- I’m afraid I didn’t realize I’d be having company for dinner but we could split it, if you like?” Aziraphale asked, fretting that there wasn’t enough food for the both of them to be satisfied. He took two simple wine glasses from his desk drawer, followed by the wine. He poured them each a glass and handed one over to Crowley, smirking at how much the man had already sprawled and made himself at home. 

“No, no, don’t worry. Just the wine. I don’t have much of an appetite, honestly,” Crowley said, stretching out a bit. His black tee shirt slid up a fraction and Aziraphale tried to tell himself that his mouth was watering from the smell of his dinner rather than a hunger for the pale flesh on display. He did not lick his lips! He did not!

“Oh, if you’re sure. It feels terribly rude to eat in front of you. I could wait?” Aziraphale suggested as he poured two glasses of wine and handed one over to the man reclined across the loveseat like he didn’t possess bones.

“I really don’t mind, angel,” Crowley assured him. Aziraphale offered him a small, bashful smile before flipping open the top of the styrofoam container. He lifted the steak sandwich from it’s bed of greasy fries and took a bite, humming to himself as he chewed. Or, perhaps more than a hum. As much as he did have a taste for the finer things in life, he had to admit there was a definite appeal to the salt and fat, cheese and meat combination of a steak sandwich. He’d taken a few more bites before looking back over at Crowley. 

Who was staring at him. If not staring, he was very certainly frozen in place and looking in Aziraphale’s direction. It was hard to tell, what with the ever-present sunglasses, but it was almost certain that Crowley was staring.

“Oh, my, I do apologize, my dear. Sometimes I get very caught up in my meals. I’m being a horrid host,” Aziraphale said, thinking that the lack of conversation was likely what Crowley was staring at.

“Ngk. Nn, not at all, angel. You just, um. You enjoy that. It’s fine. I’m cool,” Crowley said, shaking himself as if coming out of a trance. He lifted his wine slowly to his lips, taking a hesitant sip. “You’re right. This is shit.” 

“Well, as I said, I lost everything in the divorce. But, no worries! I’m slowly getting back on my feet and one day there will be, hopefully, better wine to drink.” Aziraphale picked up a fry and took a bite. “You said you were avoiding your other friends. Tell me about them.” 

“There’s really not much to tell,” Crowley said. He swirled his glass around, fixated on the red liquid sloshing against the sides. 

“I noticed you pulled a young boy onto your bike with you. You could tell me about him. How does a small child end up with a motorcycle gang?” Aziraphale paused. “Is he yours?” 

Crowley hissed out a long breath, taking another sip from his glass before setting it aside. “Hmnnn, it’s complicated. He’s not mine, but- it’s- I couldn’t- I can’t say, really. He’s not my kid, no, but I feel responsible for him and Ana, the girl, both. I try to take care of them.” 

“Ana? Is she one of the girls you were with?” Aziraphale asked, trying to remember the other faces of the group, but Crowley’s was so bright in his mind that he blinded him to the rest. 

“Ha! Don’t let Beez hear you call them a lady. They don’t go in for that sort of thing. Says they’re neither gender thing. But no, he doesn’t belong to them by blood, if that’s why you’re asking. It’s… complicated,” Crowley allowed, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the path the conversation was taking. He’d gone from deliciously stretched out to sitting up, hunching back in on himself.

“Kidnapping is certainly complicated,” Aziraphale remarked in a dry tone. He was only mildly surprised when Crowley didn’t argue with him. 

“Kidnapping, bait. Whatever it is,” Crowley agreed. “It’s not something we get a choice in, is it?” 

“I think everyone gets a choice, my dear,” Aziraphale said, patting his lips with a cheap paper napkin. He wanted to know more. He wanted to know what could possibly have prevented Crowley from seeking help or guidance on any situation that involved coercing him to join a gang by kidnapping a small child. “How did you come to be involved with them? Forgive me, but you seem so-” He gave another Aziraphale trademarked ‘vague hand wave’ in Crowley’s direction, - “smart? Like you would have more intelligence than to join a-a- band of criminals!” 

“I’m offended, angel,” Crowley snickered, but he really wasn’t. Aziraphale might not have realized it, but his indignation was rather adorable. “I can do plenty of crime, that’s not the problem. I just, you know. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but when they took Warlock, well. Cinched me in place, didn’t it? I can’t leave him with them. Someone has to look after him.” 

Aziraphale perked up, leaning forward in his seat. “The boy’s name is Warlock?” 

Crowley flinched, panic setting in around his mouth. “Ah, ha, um, I didn’t say that!” 

“A few weeks ago I had some children in the shop and they were telling me about their friend who went missing, Crowley. If you’ve had something to do with it-” 

Crowley leapt to his feet, spilling a bit of wine in the process. “I’m- I’ve got to go, angel. I shouldn’t have come, it was stupid.”

“Wait, Crowley!” 

“Nah, it’s okay, thanks for the wine! You, um, you have a nice night, angel. Be safe. Can’t be walking home from the boardwalk alone or maybe let Tracy know you’re coming. Stay safe, please,” Crowley said, bolting from the room. 

“Wait, wait!” Aziraphale said, starting to follow but when he went out into the store… it was empty. And the door was still rolled down and locked securely. 

How had Crowley escaped?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update _should_ be 10/23, if not 10/25 at the latest. I'm getting busier at work and it's causing me to struggle with editing. (Because that's the boring part.) 
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	3. Strangers Look On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The conversation about Ducks is loosely inspired by one of my favorite childhood novels Dangerous Angels by FLB.

Sleep had never come easy to Aziraphale. It was a combination of lacking privacy during the daytime, when his wife was awake, and just a general insomnia-slash-preference-for-nighttime. It was peaceful when everyone was asleep. It was usually cool and calm and quiet. Late night hours were perfect for reading, especially if it was the type of literature you didn’t want to be caught perusing by nosy spouses.

So, he wasn’t surprised when the abrupt end to his conversation with Crowley led to him being awake all night. He was usually able to catch up on his sleep somewhere. But the next night was also fraught with uncomfortable dreams that were part nightmare, part… something that certainly qualified as spicy. It left him sweat-sticky and panting, unable to return to sleep and half-afraid to, anyway. 

Which is how Aziraphale found himself awake, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, brimming with irritation as Saturday night bled into Sunday morning. Suffice to say, he was not in the mood for company. Rather unfortunately for him, Tracy was already in the kitchen when he arrived there entertaining the old man from the gas station and an awkward looking young man who was wearing thick glasses. 

Aziraphale was still wearing his pajamas. They were tartan. It was all rather embarrassing.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear! I didn’t realize you had company or I would have dressed appropriately!” Aziraphale said, flustered and apologetic. Tracy was already dressed herself, with her hair teased up high and her eyelids coated in a vibrant blue shadow. Seated at the table, she was already sipping her coffee and she had a half-eaten danish in front of her. She dabbed at her red-coated lips. 

“Don’t worry about it! It’s only these two. I don’t know if you’ve met- This is Sergeant Shadwell. He works at the gas station down the way.” She waved her hand towards the older man. Aziraphale noticed now that instead of his ‘Sarge’ coveralls, he was wearing a camouflage jacket that looked a little worse for wear and a pair of stained, faded blue jeans. Aziraphale smiled stiffly at him, giving a nod before deciding he would need more tea in order to survive this conversation. 

“Ah, yes. We did meet, on my first day, actually. Sergeant. So you served in the military?” Aziraphale asked, filling the kettle and placing it on the stovetop. He felt awkward, which was doubly uncomfortable because he _lived_ there. He was chalking it up to being unused to prolonged periods of time around people as a whole. 

“Yeah, and who’s askin’?” was Shadwell’s growling reply. He eyed Aziraphale through squinting eyelids. “Why do you want to know? You’re full of questions for a new person.” 

“Shaddie,” Tracy warned, reaching over to give a hard pat to his hand.

“I certainly didn’t mean to be rude,” Aziraphale said, feeling an embarrassed flush spread over his cheeks. “I apologize, sincerely.” 

“I bet you do,” Shadwell grumbled, earning him another reproachful look from Tracy. 

“Oh, behave, you,” Tracy scolded. When she looked back at Aziraphale, she wore an apologetic expression. “Don’t worry about it, dearie. He’s always a bit touchy.” Aziraphale waited for her to add an ‘at this time of day’ or ‘before his coffee’ but she didn’t. She merely motioned to the young man at the table. With the focus off of Shadwell, it was easier to see how painfully awkward the boy was. He was in his early or mid-twenties, and he wore thick, black rimmed glasses similar to those of Buddy Holly, but at some point they had been broken down the center and repaired with silver duct tape. His hair was more on the long side, curly, with just the tiniest bit of a longer back. It wasn’t quite the rebellious mullet, more like someone had just forgotten to get his hair trimmed. “And this is Newt! He used to date my friend Anathema before, well. You know.” 

“It’s short for Newton, actually,” Newt said, taking a nervous sip from his own mug of coffee. “You’re, um, the man that took over the comic shop, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, knowing full well that the boy probably had a collection that rivaled his store inventory based solely off of his appearance. “To be honest, I don’t know much about them. I’m starting to worry I’m in over my head.” The silent, _‘in more ways than one’_ , almost, _almost_ , didn’t have to be added.

“I’d be happy to help out,” Newt offered. He shrugged. “Maybe I could come by and assist for a bit.” 

“Oh, thank you. I would appreciate any help I can get. Although, I will admit, I’m not sure if it’s going to work out here at all. I’m starting to feel like this was all a big mistake and perhaps I should have stayed in England,” Aziraphale said, surprising himself with his own honesty. He hadn’t meant to voice his concerns yet, but it did make him feel better. 

Tracy tutted sympathetically. “Aw, poor poppet! What’s got you feeling so down?”

Aziraphale hesitated, twisting his hands together. He knew that Tracy didn’t love the idea of him fraternizing with any of the demons, which made him half afraid to tell her what was truly on his mind. “I had an interesting conversation with Crowley.” 

“What did I tell you about hanging out with one of them?” 

“Crowley? Isn’t he- he’s one of the Demons, isn’t he?” Newt asked, his voice wavering as he glanced at Tracy for answers.

“Quiet, boy! You’ll give away all of our secrets!” Shadwell snapped. Newt sat up a little straighter and fiddled with his cup. Aziraphale was thankful when the kettle started to whistle so he could have something to do with his hands, too. “Should close the town borders until it’s safe. It’s a pandemic, that’s what it is!” 

“Shh, Shaddie, drink your coffee,” Tracy said, trying to soothe him. He grumbled but obeyed her, grabbing his mug and continuing his nonsensical muttering. She turned sympathetic eyes back to Aziraphale. “What sort of conversation did you have with Crowley that’s got you all twisted up?” 

He sighed. “I think I probed a little too much into his personal life. He mentioned, well… You know, I’m sure I shouldn’t actually be talking about this without his permission. It’s a simple case of me not minding my own business. I won’t push him so much, if he talks to me again, that is.” 

Tracy stood and crossed to him to refill her own coffee mug, patting his arm knowingly. “Don’t worry about these two. They’re perfectly trustworthy. Unless, it was, you know, something _intimate_.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Aziraphale laughed. 

“Oh, no, it wasn’t anything like that,” he replied. He leaned against the counter and watched as she added an astonishing amount of sugar to her coffee, dribbling cream in almost as an afterthought. “I asked him, about, you know. His _friends_. And he wasn’t very forthcoming, but the way he made it sound… it was as though he wasn’t _allowed_ to talk to me. I suppose I understand, that’s the point of a gang, but he left pretty quickly afterward.” He made it a point not to bring up Crowley’s miraculous escape from his locked store. 

Perhaps he was a fan of Houdini. Oh, that would be nice. Aziraphale always appreciated magic shows. Sadly, Shadwell’s voice interrupted his hopeful thinking.

“They’ll kill’im, that’s why,” Shadwell muttered gruffly. Tracy had settled back at the table and was resuming her reproachful swatting.

“Shh!” 

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale asked, hoping that he hadn’t heard the man correctly.

“It’s just that they’re pretty violent. People who’ve gone up against the Demons aren’t ever seen again,” Tracy murmured softly, pity filling her expression. She wouldn’t look at Aziraphale directly, suddenly finding a very important knot of wood in the tabletop to focus on. He glanced at Newt, who was looking fairly green, but attempted a small smile for Aziraphale. 

“That’s how it is,” Newt said, shrugging. “Once you’re in, you can’t leave.” 

Aziraphale’s stomach clenched, and he glanced down at the tea in his hand, wondering if the acidity would make his rising nausea worse. “I thought it might be something like that. I- I asked him how he came to be involved with the Demons, and I asked about the little boy. Oh, I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I?” 

Shadwell fidgeted in his seat, about to say something but Tracy hushed him once more. She fixed a carefully blank expression on her face before saying, in a warning tone, “If you’re determined to be his friend, which I’m still skeptical about, I would just apologize to him. But Aziraphale, he’s never going to be able to leave.” Strangely, her eyes flicked to Newt before coming back to Aziraphale. “I know you’re not young and stupid, but you’re my friend and I just want you to be safe. We’re fairly certain that they’re… well, murdering people.”

“Vampires, woman! Tell him the truth so he can protect himself! They’re vampires!” Shadwell finally burst, unable to contain himself any longer. “Don’t let him get taken like the others.” 

Tracy winced. Aziraphale’s nervous laughter echoed through the silent kitchen. 

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. Their silence combined with the somber expressions they all wore caused his giggles to peter out. “You-You can’t be serious, surely. My dear, I’m willing to accept that you believe in things like tarot cards or seances, but vampires? Really?” 

The three of them exchanged a quick glance before Tracy cleared her throat. “Have you seen him during the day?” 

“N-no? But he may just be out late at night being a.. Well, a criminal!” Aziraphale exclaimed, but he had to admit that wasn’t the defense he’d intended it to be. 

“Have you ever seen him eat anything?” Tracy asked gently. 

“I’ve only actually spoken to him the one time, but no, he hasn’t eaten anything. Although, I offered him food and he said no,” he said, his words a little vague as he remembered the encounter. “He drank some wine, though. I did give him wine.” 

“Liquid diet,” Shadwell snorted.

“Just be careful, Aziraphale. Regardless of what we believe, he’s mixed up in something serious. Please, please don’t make me put up a missing photo for you, too. I love you, sweetie,” Tracy pleaded, her big eyes glossing over with tears, tugging at his heartstrings. He immediately went to her, placing his mug on the table and wrapping her in a tight hug. 

“I promise, I promise, I won’t do anything reckless, my dear. I probably won’t even see him again, what with how he bolted out of the shop,” Aziraphale said. 

“You’ve said that before,” she replied, sniffing. She pulled back and reached for a napkin from the lazy susan on the center of the table. He could’ve sworn he heard Shadwell mutter something along the lines of ‘feminine wiles’ but he chose to ignore it. 

“I know, but you didn’t see him,” Aziraphale said.

Tracy dabbed at her eyes, trying to dry the tears without messing up her thick navy blue eyeliner. Rings and bracelets jangled with the movement. “Oh! That reminds me. Now that I’m thinking of it, Gabriel called. He wanted me to remind you of dinner later and wanted to know what flowers you like. Quite sweet, which I thought was a surprise, knowing Gabriel.”

“The video store guy?” Newt asked, his voice quivering ever so slightly. 

“Yes, I completely forgot about our dinner. How lovely of him to call and remind me. I do hope I don’t give off the impression of being that flaky, that he knew instantly I’d need a confirmation call,” Aziraphale said, trying to make his voice light and cheerful. The nervous flutter gave him away. “I, ah, I have some important reading to catch up on, so I will just take my tea upstairs.” 

He got as far as the door, mug retrieved and nestled safely in his strong, thick fingers, before he heard Tracy call for him. He turned and she was behind him, holding out a plate with a very nice looking danish on it.

“Here you go. Can’t start a day without a good breakfast,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek and leaving a smear of orange-red lipstick there. He gave her a tight smile.

“Yes, quite. Thank you, my dear,” he said, taking the pastry and retreating. He had an awful lot of thinking to do.

***

Shadwell and Newt were still in the kitchen murmuring quietly with Tracy when Aziraphale decided to emerge from his room, early in the afternoon. He called out to them that he was heading into town to get some work done and didn’t wait for confirmation that they’d even heard him. The atmosphere in the kitchen was tense enough that it bled into the rest of the house, suffocating Aziraphale. He tried to convince himself that there was no way these rational human adults (okay, it was a bit of a stretch with the Sergeant, but surely the other two) believed in _vampires_ , but he knew Tracy had a history with seances, mythology and the occult, so he couldn’t quite quell the panic that his new flatmate was insane.

Vampires? Really?

The drive into town was not short enough to distract him from his anxiety. He needed to see Crowley again. He lingered on the boardwalk, looking back and forth, hoping for a glimpse of fiery auburn hair in the sun, but there was nothing. Sighing, Aziraphale let himself into the shop, making sure it was securely locked behind him. Perhaps attempting inventory would prove to be suitably distracting. Or, that’s what he’d hoped when he started the chore. But when one of the loose books gave him a nasty papercut, he dropped it onto the dusty floor, sucking at his finger. He tasted the metallic salt of blood as he bent to pick up the offending comic. 

VAMPIRES EVERYWHERE, the cover shouted at him, providing a lurid image of a caped villain sucking the neck of a damsel in distress. 

Was Aziraphale a damsel?

“Oh, good Lord,” Aziraphale said, shoving the comic book back onto the shelf haphazardly. He grimaced, knowing that the antsy feeling he’d been avoiding had never actually gone anywhere and would prevent him from being productive. Perhaps a walk on the beach would do a better job of clearing his mind. He sighed, putting his work aside and letting himself out of the shop. A warm breeze ruffled his white curls and he hoped it would blow some of the anxiety away with it. Sighing, he glanced at the bulletin board of missing faces as he passed it, feeling the rough wood of the boardwalk under his soft loafers. It seemed there were more poor lost souls and he paused, praying for the families of those that were gone. When he lifted his blue eyes back to the board, he couldn’t help but notice that the one covering that first grainy image that caught his attention was peeling up. He stepped closer, his soft manicured hand reaching out and lifting up the poster to glance at the long-haired man in the white shirt.

Then, as quickly as he’d lifted the paper to view the photograph, he dropped it again as though he’d been burned.

The name he hadn’t seen before.

Anthony _Crowley_.

How could it be that something as simple as a pair of dark sunglasses and a different hairstyle could obscure a man’s identity so much that no one recognized him? Surely this wasn’t the only poster, there had to be others. Or were there just so many faces, so many people missing, that his face blended into the crowd and no one really noticed anyone anymore?

He lifted the top poster once more, ripping Crowley’s free and folding it neatly, shoving it into his pocket. Oh, he shouldn’t have _done_ that! Aziraphale’s hands wrung themselves together, twisting and tangling like his thoughts. What was he supposed to do now?

Planks of rough wood turned to soft sand as Aziraphale left the boardwalk, pacing down the beach further than he’d gone before, trying to get as far from the crowds as possible. Every once in a while, he’d glance back at the more populated areas, even as they grew smaller in the distance, hoping that he’d see that one shock of red or the glint of that certain pair of sunglasses. Finally, far enough away that he felt for certain no one would see him panic if he was of a mind to, he settled himself down and watched the waves lap against the shore. The crashing as a soothing sound. 

The sky turned orange with the passage of time, bleeding into scarlet and violet and, finally, a deep, dark blue. Looking out at the inky ocean that blended into the night sky, Aziraphale almost felt as though he were floating. Lost, staring into the abyss, he allowed himself to drift in the moment. Something gently nagged at the back of his mind that he was forgetting something, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to remember what it was, and he was no closer to figuring out the enigma that was Crowley.

Sighing, he reached for his loafers, nestled beside him in the sand, and tugged them on reluctantly. He brushed the sand from his rear end as he stood, giving one last wistful look at the sea before turning-

And Crowley was behind him. 

There were some small differences between the ‘Missing’ photo and the beautiful man in front of him. In the photo, his long hair had curled around his shoulders, although it had been styled in that shaggy-short-in-front style that Aziraphale had never really understood. The length in the back was gone, traded in for a shorter, tousled style. The sunglasses were firmly in place, blocking anyone from viewing at least half his face, and his mouth was set in a regretful line, whereas he’d been smiling in the photograph. The differences were night and day. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, only a little startled. His heart sped up and he shifted his weight, blushing. “I was looking for you.” 

“I’m not out in the ocean, angel,” Crowley said, lifting the corner of his mouth in a hint of a smirk. 

“Ah, yes. So I can see,” Aziraphale replied, not quite knowing what to do with his hands. Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

“Did you want something?” he asked, sliding his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and tugging one free, letting it dangle, unlit, from his lips. 

“You really shouldn’t smoke, Crowley. You could end up with lung cancer,” Aziraphale scolded. He watched Crowley’s long, spidery fingers pat himself down as he searched for a light. 

“Don’t worry, angel. Cigarettes won’t hurt me.” His tone was rather boasting and only a little bit smug. He lit his cigarette, the red fire lighting in the darkness as he inhaled. “You never answered me. Why were you looking for me?” 

“Ah. Yes. Well, it seems- Oh, Crowley. I feel I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have pried into your history.” Aziraphale started to reach out, to grip Crowley by the shoulder, only his hands fell back to his side as he realized how awkward that would be. “I’m so very sorry.” 

“Don’t! Nnno, don’t, don’t apologize. Not to someone like me, and not when you aren’t wrong about something.” Crowley swallowed, his face turning away, looking down at the ground. “I don’t- I don’t deserve apologies.” 

“Crowley! I’m sure you’re wrong, my dear. I’m positive of it. Whatever you’re involved in, you’re still deserving of respect and I violated that with my questions.” This time, Aziraphale did reach out and touch Crowley’s elbow. The ginger man was shaking his head but he didn’t protest, the apology or the contact. 

“Well, ‘M here now. Did you want something else? Or maybe,” Crowley shrugged, letting a mischievous grin play on his lips, “maybe you want to eat something? I’m not hungry but I’d- I’d sit with you. Maybe order a drink.” 

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Aziraphale said. It didn’t seem to make much sense to go out to each when only one of them would be eating. He dropped his hand, realizing the contact had gone on for just a little bit too long. 

Crowley’s grin turned into a loose, easy smile that appeared fairly genuine. “S’no trouble at all, angel.” 

“Well, then, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed, grinning back. The tension seemed to bleed away, leaving them merely happy to be spending an evening together. “Lead the way.”

***

“Ducks!” Crowley exclaimed, kicking sand towards the water’s edge. It landed with a wet splat. Aziraphale blinked up at him, letting out a whooshing breath, trying to follow the conversation. It’d been a long time since he’d been quite this drunk and his tolerance wasn’t what it used to be.

“Ducks?” he managed. 

There had been so much alcohol involved with dinner. Even though Crowley wouldn’t join Aziraphale in eating, he apparently had no such reservations when it came to liquids and they drank… everything in sight, before deciding a walk by the beach, well after midnight, in the dark, was a perfectly marvelous idea. Crowley kicked at the sand again and then took another swig from the bottle he’d nicked from the restaurant. 

“Ducks,” he agreed, turning to offer the bottle to Aziraphale. Their walk had really devolved into Aziraphale sitting in the sand, attempting not to fall over, while listening to Crowley talk about all sorts of random topics. “Have you ever been _duck hunting_ , angel?” 

“I.. can’t say that I have,” Aziraphale said, stifling a belch. He took the bottle out of Crowley’s hand and drank, even though he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “I’m not mush- much, um. I don’t like hunting.” 

“Ha!” Crowley plopped his bony behind onto the sand, sitting too close to Aziraphale and yet somehow not close enough. His arms splayed out behind him, one of them nearly wrapped around Aziraphale. “Not those kind of ducks. Mmnn, no, the other kind. Twink ducks, kinky ducks, Don Johnson geese-” he waggled his eyebrows at Aziraphale, pursing his lips. “What kind of ducks d’ya like, angel. What ducks are you gonna hunt for now the bird is gone?” 

Aziraphale was giggling. “Do some of the ducks wear leather jackets?” 

Crowley snorted and collapsed back onto the sand, staring up at the stars, pulling his hands in and folding them over his stomach. “Sounds like a loony dodo bird, wearin’ leather. You like those kinds of ducks?” He started laughing, too, but it sounded bitter. “Demon ducks.” 

“Definitely demon ducks,” Aziraphale replied. He decided to lay back in the sand, too, even though he was wearing one of his favorite waistcoats. His drunken mind managed several hazy thoughts. One, he worried that he was much less attractive laying in the sand than his new friend. Crowley looked like he was out filming some beachside music video, with his black and snakeskin and big belt buckle and tousled hair. Aziraphale was sure his own clothes were blending into the sand, and his hair was a far cry from Crowley’s artful style. Still, demon ducks was a funny word, and the sand was soft and comfortable. He was smiling when he looked over at Crowley. “Demon ducks.” 

“You’re not a duck,” Crowley decided. “Y’know. You’re too- There’s too many- y’know, books!” 

“Crowley, dear, I don’t know what you’ve said,” is what Aziraphale hoped actually came out of his mouth. Or, at the very least, “What?” but one could never be quite sure when one was this completely pissed.

“You are an owl. Or, nng, somethin’ smart,” Crowley mumbled. 

“Could be a pigeon,” Aziraphale said. “They’re bland. Beige.” 

“Nngnno. No, no, can’t do. Not good enough,” Crowley said. He pointed at the sky, where faint stars twinkled at them. “‘S’beautiful, innit? You’re like that. You’re something, y’know. Not a pigeon. Shining. Beacons. Those star stuff things.” 

“Vast?” Aziraphale snorted. 

“Stop, don’t.” Crowley sighed. “More wine?” 

“No, thank you.” He stifled a yawn. It was getting late, but he didn’t want the evening to end. Crowley started talking, something about stars and meteors and moon phases, but Aziraphale was too soothed by the rambling. The darkness surrounded them, and the bed of sand was soft and conformed to his body in the most delightful way. Just before he fell off that last precipice between waking and sleep, he could have sworn he felt someone kiss his cheek. 

He woke alone, in the store, on the loveseat, with a blanket covering him. One of his wine glasses was filled with tap water and a bottle of tylenol had been placed on the desk next to him. Crowley was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Ducks Convo- I added that in because Weetzie/Dangerous Angels is a 1980s LA punk rock book that reminds me a bit of The Lost Boys. And, y'know. Crowley and Ducks. ;-) 
> 
> Next update _should_ be 10/26. It would've been 10/25 but I'm sick. If you're on Tumblr, come talk to me because I could use some new buddies. 
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	4. Behind Those Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! I tried to update yesterday but I was in too much pain to look at my computer screen. Medicated now, on the mend, here's the update for you.

His dinner with Gabriel had completely slipped his mind and he felt absolutely wretched about it. Alright, perhaps _absolutely_ wretched was a bit of a stretch. He could feel worse about it, but frankly, all thoughts of Gabriel had been easily pushed aside, especially with the prospect of spending time with Crowley. 

“I know you’re interested in that- that _gangster_ ,” Gabriel sputtered. Aziraphale frowned, watching the taller man pace his store. He was about to protest that they weren’t in a relationship when Gabriel continued. He turned, lips pressed together, eyes too wide for Aziraphale’s comfort. “I just didn’t know that was your type. I mean, he’s so-” Gabriel shrugged, “hip. And thin. Let’s face it, sunshine, you’re not exactly modern. No offense! Really, I find your lack of style endearing. It’s cute, that vintage thing you’re doing.” 

“Vintage!” Aziraphale had managed to inject, but Gabriel held up both hands, palms out, in a sign of surrender. His lips turned down in an apologetic frown. 

“I said no offense! But you’re not as rad as the kids say. Maybe you should learn to embrace the change. You’ve made a big move, changed your whole life around- why not your wardrobe? Or your weight? You know, stop dressing like a character in a murder mystery,” Gabriel continued. He shook his head, letting out a huff. “Such a waste of potential. And if that leather-clad biker freak and his friends set fire to your shop, or rob you, don’t cry to me about it.” With another annoyed hand gesture, Gabriel seemingly dismissed Aziraphale and showed himself out of the shop. Good riddance.

Offense _was_ taken, Aziraphale thought to himself as he started the process of counting down the drawer. He put his meager deposit in his safe and started shutting off the lights. And that was another thing! With what money would Gabriel want him to start an entire personal make-over? This wasn’t some- some film about teenagers!

In theory, Gabriel was probably nice enough. He was certainly attentive and he wasn’t the worst person to look at, but Aziraphale didn’t feel drawn to him the way he felt magnetically linked to a certain tall, dark and ginger anti-hero. And thinking of touching Gabriel? Well, the idea gave him hives. 

The move _hadn’t_ been about changing himself, exactly. It was about finally being able to be his real self, not some closeted or cleaned-up version of himself. Gabriel had it all wrong! But… it was exhausting to try and argue with the man. He had a head like a brick, it seemed. 

Screeching metal covered his soft sigh as he completed the ritual of closing up for the night. He didn’t mind if his hours were a bit odd or if other stores on the boardwalk were still open. It wasn’t like anyone out at this hour was looking for comic books. Perhaps, in the long run, if he were to move locations he should look for a more daytime, family-friendly venue.

Oh, but that would encourage shoppers and he would be back to the sticky children conundrum.

If he were being honest, even though it had been a few weeks, he still had the feeling that he was drifting. He wasn’t quite sure this was where he was meant to be. Gabriel’s words lingered as he passed the types of stores that were still open. They were the kind of shops that attracted the younger people with money to burn. Leather jackets hung on racks outside of beachy, hippie stores where flocks of punk rockers were crowded. He paused to watch a young man getting his ear pierced, wondering if he should try that as well. Something to make him look more…

_Hip._

“Nah, don’t do it, angel,” Crowley whispered in Aziraphale’s ear, causing him to jerk and let out a nervous giggle. By the time he turned to greet Crowley, he was already walking away at that slithering, sauntering pace. The ginger man called over his shoulder, “It’s just not you.” 

“Crowley, you have a tendency to startle me and I’m not sure I entirely care for it,” Aziraphale told him, pretending to be annoyed. He followed along, caught in the rip tide that was his Demon. 

“Sssorry, angel.” The grin on his face proved he was not at all sorry. “Why’re you looking at those types of places? Are you tired of your professor look?” 

Aziraphale blushed, looking down at the cream-white-waistcoat-linen ensemble he was wearing. He couldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes, staring at some point just near his shoulder. “I just thought it might be nice to try something different. I’m in America now, after all. Maybe I should ‘embrace the change’.” 

He turned away, walking towards a solid-looking wall that separated the boardwalk from the sand. He stared out at the ocean, letting the wind ruffle his curls. There were groups of people lighting bonfires and playing on the beach, even though it was late, and the ocean itself was, yet again, a void of nothingness with dark waves crashing on a nearly invisible shoreline. “Black is supposed to be slimming, you know.” 

“Slimming? What do you care about slimming?” Crowley asked, stalking over and crowding into Aziraphale’s space. He leaned against the wall, too, but positioned his back to the ocean. He was so close that Aziraphale could smell the spicy scent of him, and should have been able to feel the faint heat of his body, had there been any. Aziraphale let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

“Well, Gabriel suggested I- I mean, I have no delusions about what I look like,” Aziraphale started. He wasn’t prepared for the seething that began to roll off of Crowley. He could see the minute clench of the man’s jaw, the muscle twitching in his neck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Gabriel ssssuggested what?” he hissed out. 

“He said I’m.. well, he said I’m a bit soft, you know.” Aziraphale let his hands start to drift towards his abdomen, but he dropped them again. “Fat. Not hip and thin and pretty. I do enjoy eating, I’ve never been shy about that, and I suppose I’ve just stopped caring. It’s not like I had anyone to impress.” 

“And now?” Crowley asked, more of a growl than the English language.

“There might be. It’s definitely _not_ Gabriel,” Aziraphale murmured. He’d have felt less embarrassed if he weren’t still seeing himself reflected in Crowley’s damnable sunglasses. “Crowley-”

“Don’t listen to him, angel,” Crowley interrupted, his anger seeming to shift into something still passionate but softer. “You’re pretty. He’s a-a- he’s a cock!” 

Aziraphale giggled. “Yes, well, he’s a cock who is interested in me, which is-” 

“Doesn’t mean you go around changing yourself for him! You- You are perfect. Yeah, you’re not, you know, a body builder or something but you’re so fucking-” Crowley paused to breathe, staring down at Aziraphale in a way that made him wish, desperately, that Crowley would just look at him, “You’re so fucking perfect, angel.” 

Before Aziraphale could reply, someone whistled out and Crowley suddenly put a foot of room between them, snapping them out of their little bubble. 

“What are you doing, Crowley?” asked a tiny person with a black, shaggy haircut. Their eyes were dark and caked with so much make-up that Aziraphale was reminded of a racoon. Or, perhaps, a fly, with their manic, buzzing energy. The small person that seemed neither male nor female wore a strangely patched jacket that appeared to be covered in obscene tapestry patches and a cropped black tee shirt. They were flanked by two men, one on either side, both wearing dark clothing. One of them was a pale blond man that just seemed to have been drained of color, while the other one was a black man with pierced ears and a leather jacket with a leopard painted on the arm. 

“‘M’just talkin’, Beez. No harm done,” Crowley said, moving even further from Aziraphale. 

“Leave them alone,” this came from a dark-haired girl that stood behind them, her hands on the shoulders of a young boy, holding him close to her. Aziraphale assumed this was Anathema and Warlock. Tracy’s description of ‘Victorian ghost’ couldn’t have been more spot on. Her light-colored, high-necked shirt could have been from a bygone era. In fact, even with their dark colors and tough leather, the others also seemed to hearken to different times, just subtly, like leftover habits from past lifetimes. 

There was one more man with them, who appeared to be more of a teenager. He was very handsome, with the brightest white hair- brighter than Aziraphale’s own- so white it seemed to glow. His face was smug, impish, and watching them intently. 

“Quiet, girlie,” the blond next to Beez snapped at Anathema. Her chin tilted up, eyes flashing and angry, but when Warlock glanced up at her, whatever she’d been about to say died on her lips. 

“Now, Hastur,” the smug teenager said. His voice was beautiful and Aziraphale almost felt resentful towards it. It was soft, gravelly and calm, but with an authority he hadn’t expected the youth to have. “Where are your manners? We’re making new friends.” 

“No, David,” Crowley snapped. His voice was sharp and Aziraphale’s eyes snapped to Crowley’s face, but his expression was unreadable. 

“Come on, Crowley,” the blond man purred. 

“Actually,” Aziraphale said, putting on a bright tone of voice, reaching out to touch Crowley’s elbow. “We were just about to get something to eat. Weren’t you saying that, my dear? Well? Shall we?” Crowley grimaced. 

“Crowley?” David prompted, raising his eyebrows. Crowley answered neither of them. He kept still, lips pressed into a hard line. 

“Cool. Come with us,” Beez said, turning away. 

“Yeah, we love dinner guests,” Hastur snickered and the other man joined in. They started to follow Beez, jabbing each other and laughing. David and Crowley shared some sort of silent exchange before he, too, followed Beez, leaving only Anathema and Warlock. As he walked away, Aziraphale noticed the word 'Morningstar' emblazoned on the back of his long black trench coat. 

“Crowley, he could just walk away,” Anathema whispered, the fierce look returning to her eyes. They started to follow the others as well, at a slower pace, back towards where their motorcycles had been left. “He doesn’t-” 

“That’s not how it works. You know that. We’ll, I dunno. We’ll figure something out,” Crowley whispered back. He reached out to take Aziraphale’s wrist, tugging him closer. “Stay close.” 

“Should I be nervous? What’s going on?” Aziraphale asked in a whisper. Unfortunately, they were close enough to the others the Hastur and the other man started cackling. 

“The _angel_ wants to know ‘what’s going on’?” Hastur snickered. 

“What’s going on?” the other man said, putting on a soft accent in a mean imitation of Aziraphale’s voice. 

“Shut up, Ligur!” Crowley snapped. He squeezed Aziraphale’s arm. “It’s going to be fine, angel. I promise.”

***

“You live in a cave,” Aziraphale said flatly. Annoyance radiated off of him in thick waves and he was still shaking after riding on Crowley’s motorcycle. The man drove like a- like a- well, like a demon! The others were busy passing around a joint, waiting for Hastur to return with whatever takeaway they’d decided on, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale alone for the moment. 

The cave itself was wide and high, and the demons had certainly decorated it with an interesting array of objects. There was a large bed with scarves and curtains hanging around it, a gigantic poster of some half-naked man that Aziraphale was pretty sure was a musician, and several antique items, such as the rattan wheelchair in which David was reclined, a king surveying his knights. 

“You really… live in a cave,” Aziraphale continued. He didn’t know where he’d thought gangs slept but it surely wasn’t this… _bohemian_ hole in the side of a mountain. 

“S’not so bad, once you get used to it,” Crowley muttered. 

“It’s filthy,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley’s brows raised above his glasses, judging the prissy comic seller. 

“Have you _seen_ your shop, angel? Do you even know what a broom is?” 

“Dust is different from-” Aziraphale gestured to the damp, dripping walls of the cave, “whatever this is. I have some standards, Crowley.” 

“Oh, yeah, right. Forgive me, angel. Standards. Wouldn’t want to get you dirty,” Crowley almost snarled. Aziraphale felt… a range of things. Pity, guilt for insulting his new friend, an urge to help. 

“Surely, if you needed somewhere else to stay,” Aziraphale said gently, “there could be options.” Crowley was about to say something back, and from the expression on his face it was probably something nasty, but they were interrupted by Hastur’s return.

“Feeding time!” he announced, bringing a cardboard box with white cartons of Chinese food, passing it out among them. Aziraphale noticed that Anathema took no food and when Warlock had his, she pulled him towards the bed, away from the others. She and Crowley shared a long look, weighted with some meaning Aziraphale was missing. It was a few moments before he even realized that David had been speaking to him. 

“I apologize. I don’t know where my mind wandered off to,” Aziraphale told him. David was smirking, but the transgression appeared forgiven. 

“I was saying that this used to be a hotel, before the big quake in ‘06 caused everything to tumble downwards,” David said blithely. He held out a container of rice. “Food?” 

Well, it had been a long day, and he was feeling just the tiniest bit peckish, but as he reached out for the offered container, Crowley’s hand snatched his arm back. 

“Stop it. This wasn’t part of the plan-” Crowley said. 

“Plan?” Aziraphale asked, giving Crowley a hurt, confused glance. 

“We’re just messing with him. Come on, Crowley,” Beez said, stabbing chopsticks violently into their own container. “No harm done. Let him have some dinner.” 

David gave that smug, pleased not-quite a smile and offered the container again. They didn’t appear to have a choice, although Aziraphale did consider refusing. It seemed rude, however, and after their little tiff he didn’t want to get Crowley in trouble or, Heaven forbid, _hurt_ because of him. Aziraphale reached out and took the container, scooping a spoonful of rice into his mouth. 

“How are those maggots?” 

Snickers sounded from the shadows. Aziraphale frowned, not quite comprehending the question.

“You’re eating maggots, Aziraphale. How. do. they. taste?” David asked, his smirk only growing with every word. Aziraphale rolled his eyes but when he looked down into what felt in his hands like a warm, slightly damp container of rice, it was _writhing_. 

He spat out the maggots, dropping the container on the ground, causing a raucous round of laughter from the other Demons. When he looked down again, expecting to see the little pests crawling on his shoes, it was only rice. 

“Mature, David. What’s next, worms instead of noodles?” Anathema called to them bitterly. “You can be such a child.” 

“Nggyeah, no,” Crowley said, reaching again for Aziraphale’s arm and tugging him close. “We’re out of here.” 

“It was only rice, Crowley. No harm done,” David said evenly. Beez had sidled up behind him, holding a gold encrusted wine bottle. Crowley blanched, all the color draining away from him, and he shot a panicked look at Aziraphale (who noticed, with some satisfaction, that he was getting very good at reading Crowley’s expressions even with the wretched glasses on). 

“No,” Crowley half-whimpered. He looked at Aziraphale, shaking his head. “Don’t.” 

“Come on, Aziraphale. It’s just a bit of wine. Drink it. Join us,” David purred, holding the bottle out to him. Aziraphale bit his lip, not at all comfortable with how distressed Crowley looked. He shook his head. 

“No, thank you.” 

David’s smile remained in place, but his eyes started to glare at them. He was clearly not used to hearing the word ‘no’. “You’re sure?” 

Aziraphale straightened, already annoyed by the entire business with the maggots. His hand found its way into Crowley’s and he gave a self-assured little nod. “Quite.” 

Crowley didn’t give the other Demons an opportunity to object. He tightened his hold on Aziraphale and tugged him towards the entrance to the cave as fast as he could go. Even though he could be a tiny bit unobservant, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice Anathema putting herself between them and the other Demons as they left. None of it seemed real. It was all strangely tense and overdramatic. 

“Was it poisoned?” Aziraphale finally asked, after another harrowing ride on the motorcycle that led them back to Tracy’s Lodge, which honestly didn’t feel much safer than the damn cave. Crowley collapsed onto her couch while Aziraphale went to fetch them both some well-earned normal wine. He handed one off to Crowley. 

“I don’t want to lie to you, angel,” Crowley said, giving a sigh. He took a huge swig from his glass before arranging his scarecrow limbs into something that looked decidedly uncomfortable but he appeared to enjoy it. 

“So it _was_ poisoned!” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley groaned and sat back up, putting his glass on the coffee table. 

“Not exactly. Look, it’s fine. Nothing happened, so we should be alright,” Crowley said. "At least for tonight."

"Comforting, I'm sure," Aziraphale remarked under his breath. He took a deep gulp of his own drink. "If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, my dear, I desperately need a bath. I feel quite disgusting. Tracy is out with her latest beau, so you'd be alone-"

Crowley waved him off. "Go, go. I'll be fine, angel."

“Well, if you’re sure,” Aziraphale said softly. He took himself up to his room and shed his clothes, wrapping himself up in a soft white robe. It was too late for a proper bubble bath, but he needed to get the grime off of his skin, and he had to admit that he needed just a few minutes to collect himself. What happened at the cave had been bizarre. He’d _seen_ the maggots writhing in the carton before throwing perfectly normal rice to the ground. Anathema and Crowley had been defensive of him, shielding him, and it made Aziraphale uncomfortable. As if he’d been in some kind of danger that he hadn’t been aware of. Meanwhile, David’s hospitable personality had felt genuine, like a temptation, however also had a hint of malice. A joke that Aziraphale wasn’t hearing.

Tracy didn’t have a shower in the guest bathroom, so he had to wait for the tub to fill, and Dog sat beside him patiently allowing Aziraphale’s anxious fingers to sift through thick fur. Was he a little bit nervous that his… his _crush_ was downstairs waiting for him? Perhaps. Either way, the softness of Dog’s fur, the steamy water of the bath, the ritual of lathering his hair was grounding and he started to relax just a little bit. Dog lay beside him on the tiles, with his eyes trained on the door. Occasionally, he would let out a tiny whine. 

Then, Aziraphale ducked his head under to rinse.

In the few seconds he was submerged, something happened that caused Dog to launch himself out of the bathroom door and down the stairs. The subsequent crash was loud enough that Aziraphale heard it and jolted back up.

He tripped out of the bathtub, sloshing water as he went, and threw on his pristinely white robe, belting it securely around his waist. His footsteps slapped wetly against the wooden floor as he went towards the sound, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down. 

Crowley was bleeding. 

There was a gash on his hand and it shone, even in the low lighting, wet with red blood. He was panting and looking up at Aziraphale with-

Oh. 

Oh, _dear_. 

Aziraphale took the stairs slowly. He could feel his robe gently brushing the wooden stairs with each step and he had to wonder what Crowley was seeing. With his white hair and snowy robe, he probably did rather appear like an angel. 

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale breathed as he got close enough to touch. His heart was hammering in his chest as he helped the man to his feet, never once taking his eyes off of Crowley’s face. One soft hand remained firmly on Crowley’s bony elbow, holding him in place, his other reaching out with broad fingers to cup Crowley’s chin before moving to brush over his sharp jawline. Then, ever so slowly, both hands moved, thumbs stroking over exposed eye sockets that held some very bare, very _interesting_ eyes.

“Wha- Oh! Oh, shit, angel, shit,” Crowley swore, realizing exactly what Aziraphale was looking at. “Wh- Why aren’t you scared? Why are you freaking out?” 

“Why should I be?” Aziraphale asked, continuing to stare even though it was probably quite rude indeed.

"'Cause, you know, they're, um, they're weird. Creepy. Freak people out." Crowley let out a large breath, but he didn’t pull away, allowing Aziraphale to look his fill. “ Because your dog just stopped me from attacking you in the bathroom? Shouldn't you be scared?” 

“Why were you going to attack me?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley’s eyes were gorgeous. At least, to Aziraphale they were. They were positively demonic. The pupil was small and black, but the iris was intensely, vibrantly yellow with a bloody red ring around the outside, framing that beautiful sulfuric color. 

"The heat, the steam," Crowley said breathlessly. He leaned in so their foreheads were touching, letting his eyes fall closed. From the kitchen, Dog growled softly, but no attempt was made to separate the two. "You smelled so delicious, angel. Couldn't resist."

"Crowley." Aziraphale's eyes were wide open, taking in every close detail of the ginger man's face. It would be very easy to tip up and press their lips together. "You need to know, my dear. Nothing about you could ever scare me. It's you."

Crowley let out a large breath. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

“Thankfully for you, I am sure. However, we might need to have a long talk about what _exactly_ is going on.” 

“We will. I promise. But it’s, erm. It’s real close to sunrise. And I can’t be here when the sun comes up,” Crowley whispered, admitting an embarrassing secret. Aziraphale nodded.

“If you’re sure. You will come back, though?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley nodded.

“Yes, angel. I’ll come back.” He ducked down and pressed a quick, dry kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek. “Bet on it.” 

“Alright. Mind how you go,” Aziraphale told him, watching Crowley retrieve his glasses. "Oh wait! My dear, your hand!"

Crowley turned and gave him a devious grin, sliding his glasses back into place. He wiped his injured hand down the front of his jeans, leaving a smear of blood, watching Aziraphale cringe with a delighted smile. Then, he held up his perfect, miraculously healed hand. 

"All better, angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update _should_ be 10/28. My work is very stressful right now so it might be 10/29, but I'm fairly confident 10/28.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	5. Thou Shalt Not Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by MadMags as always.

The entire day was gone, lost to the exhausted slumber of one biblically named comic store owner who tossed and turned in damp sheets as he had fitful dreams about demon-eyed vampires. If his dreams featured feasting on maggots or worms from takeaway containers, well, who was really keeping track anymore. He woke still exhausted and it was several minutes before he was able to push himself out of bed. His steps were heavy and slow as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for the day. He couldn’t stand to look at his own reflection. There were bags under his eyes, and the whites of his eyes were a bit bloodshot. 

_Oh yes, such a catch,_ Aziraphale thought bitterly. 

At the very least, he was determined to make the most of the remainder of the day, so he dressed in his favorite waistcoat and made sure his bow-tie was tied to perfection before making his way down the stairs.

Tracy was seated on her rustic sofa with a mess of tarot cards spread in front of her. The overhead lights were off and the only lights were from the few cozy lamps and pillar candles that were spread throughout the room. When she spoke, her tone was chipper. Too chipper. 

“Aziraphale! We were worried, when you didn’t wake up this morning. Did someone wear you out last night?” She gave him an exaggerated wink, but he wasn’t feeling particularly playful and the gesture only served to annoy him. 

“We?” he found himself asking hopefully. He looked around, wishing rather than believing that Crowley was there to check on him. “Is Sergeant Shadwell here again? Or, perhaps, someone else?” 

“Actually, it’s just me,” a feminine voice said from the taxidermy room. Anathema was standing in the doorway, holding a teacup in one hand and a very large antler in the other. It was easy to have missed her at first, with the chaos of body parts that were behind her. Her dress, with the high, ruffled collar, was the same one as the night before but she’d added a flower shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Victorian ghost, indeed. 

“Oh, come sit down, Ana. The animals make Aziraphale uncomfortable,” Tracy told her, and Anathema spared a small, business-like smile for Aziraphale. She put the antler back on the table among it’s friends and came out of the room, sliding the doors back closed before joining Tracy on the sofa. 

“I came to visit and Tracy mentioned that last night took a lot out of you. She said you’ve been asleep all day,” Anathema explained. 

“I see,” Aziraphale replied. He perched uncomfortably on one of the chairs in the living room, feeling a bit like a bug under glass, pinned open and ready to be examined by two impossibly intuitive women. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you weren’t supposed to be visiting Tracy. Per the other Demons, that it.” 

Anathema’s face drooped into a guilty grimace. “Well, yeah, that’s true, but they’re so distracted by something else that they aren’t keeping tabs on us the way they usually do. It’s easier to slip away.” 

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out what the distraction was. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You mean, of course, Crowley and I. We’re the distraction.” 

“They’re calling him a traitor,” Anathema admitted, nodding in agreement. “He was meant to kill you by now and he hasn’t.” 

“Kill me? Crowley?” Aziraphale felt his blood freeze in his veins for a moment, but then he relaxed. He truly couldn’t imagine Crowley killing anyone, really, and especially not him. He didn’t know what it was, but they clearly had some kind of… of bond, yes, that was it. They had a bond. He could trust Crowley. Aziraphale sighed. “I think, my dears, you’d better tell me exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.” 

Tracy giggled nervously, adjusting one of the many rings on her fingers. She glanced at Anathema with wide eyes before looking back at him. “We tried to, sweetie, but you laughed at us!” 

“Vampires? You’re expecting me to suspend all of my knowledge of reality and accept that there are _vampires_ terrorizing the boardwalks? You want me to believe that my newest beau- I mean, friend. My newest _friend_ is some kind of creature of the night?” Aziraphale scoffed. He shook his head. “You have to understand that I find that a bit difficult.” 

“Half vampires,” Anathema corrected, taking a sip from her mug. He really hoped that was tea or coffee. 

“What. In Heaven’s name. Is a half vampire?” Aziraphale couldn’t control the sarcasm dripping out of his words, but he felt a little guilty when she raised her eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘really?’. 

“It’s what you’d have been if you’d had any of that ‘wine’ last night,” Anathema explained. “It’s what David wanted. He tricks you with the food, so that when he hands you a bottle of his own blood you just assume it’s wine and he’s messing with you. He’s done it to all of us.” 

“Blood!” 

“Yes. That’s how you’re initiated,” she told him. “You’ll find out soon enough. Once David offers you the blood, he won’t stop until you’re one of them or until you’re dead.” 

“But why? It all seems rather silly,” Aziraphale murmured. He watched Tracy and Anathema exchange another knowing glance. “What? What else is there?” 

Tracy licked her lips and said, slowly, “We have a feeling that David is just a middle man. There’s someone else higher up the food chain calling the shots.” 

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And who, my dear, do you think that is?” 

They stared at him without answering. 

“He’d probably be someone that doesn’t take no for an answer,” Anathema said. 

“Someone who hasn’t seen the sun in a while,” Tracy added.

“A head vampire probably has an ego the size of the Pacific ocean,” Anathema agreed. Aziraphale’s mouth dropped and his eyes grew wide. 

“Oh, but he’s an idiot,” Aziraphale objected. “Be serious.” 

“We are serious!” Tracy insisted. “We’ve been watching for an escape route since before you got here and he’s the only one that has all the traits of a head vampire!” 

“What? Just because he has to work in the evenings? You said yourself, no one wants to work the night shift in a video store,” Aziraphale protested, unable to see their logic. But one thing suddenly stuck out in their words and it caught, lighting a fire in his brain. “Wait, wait. What do you mean, ‘escape route’?” 

Did that mean Crowley had hope of leaving the Demons? Would the Demons even allow that? If he could once more have friends, acquaintances, outside of that hideous group of monstrous ruffians- 

“The research we’ve been doing seems to indicate that if you kill the head vampire all half-vamps will return to their normal selves,” Anathema told him. 

“Forgive me, dear girl, but being a vampire sounds like something that would be right up your alley. Why would you want to be cured?” Aziraphale asked. Anathema winced. This had clearly been a question she hadn’t wanted him to ask. 

“I might be a little creepy but I don’t want to straight up kill people,” she said softly. 

“You have to kill people?” 

The girl stood, pacing away from him as she talked, like a restless cat. “We don’t know for sure about what happens once you’re one of them, fully, I mean, but to complete the transformation you need to ‘make your first kill’.” She turned back, a whirl of dark hair and lace, to give him sarcastic air quotations. “So even if it’s only the once, it’s still the death of someone. I can’t do that.” 

“Gracious,” Aziraphale breathed. His thoughts were on Crowley, of course. There were so many questions. Would Crowley do something like that? What about poor Warlock? He shook his head, trying to calm his racing thoughts, and pushed himself into a standing position. “Excuse me, my dears. This is a lot for me to process. I- I’m going to go down to the store and think about what you’ve said.” 

“Aziraphale, be careful,” Tracy said, rising as well, and placing a bejeweled hand on his sleeve. Tears shone in her eyes. “You are a very close friend. I don’t want anything to happen to you. If I’d known where you were last night-” 

“Tracy, I promise you. I am not planning on turning into any sort of vampire or goblin or ghoul or any other such creature. But I need a moment alone, my dear. I’ll be back shortly, I promise you,” Aziraphale told her. He leaned over to brush their cheeks together in a mock kiss, and he noticed it calmed her a bit. “Besides, perhaps I’m not as weak as everyone thinks I am. Remember when I used to play cricket?” 

“Aziraphale, you were knocked unconscious after that game with East Gate and you had to be taken off of the field on a stretcher,” Tracy reminded him patiently. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“Everyone’s a critic,” he muttered.

***

He hurried down the boardwalk, purposefully keeping his eyes forward as he passed the neon chaos of the video store where Gabriel could be lurking, soft shoes moving as quickly as he could towards his own shop. In the wake of his tense conversation with the girls the shadows were longer, darker. His nerves were brittle enough on a good day without all this talk of supernatural creatures.

Speaking of.

A particularly long, attractive shadow leaned against the metal gate of the comic shop, red hair standing out even in the darkness. Aziraphale felt instantly at ease. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, a sweet smile spreading across his face. 

“Crowley,” he breathed.

An easy grin spread across Crowley’s face as he took in Aziraphale, standing upright so the shop owner could let them in, making sure the doors were securely locked behind. “Hey, angel. Was getting a little worried. I thought you might not be coming today.”  
Aziraphale took in the tense lines of Crowley’s body, how rigid it was despite his attempt to remain casual and cool. There was genuine concern etched in his friendly smile. “You were worried something happened to me.” 

“Nnnhmm, nah. It’s not like you’ve got the most reliable business hours,” Crowley lied, following Aziraphale to the back room- _their_ back room. “Besides, thought you might want to have that chat.” 

“Of course. I’m all ears. But first, would you like something to drink? I’m guessing you aren’t feeling hungry.” Aziraphale reached for the glasses he’d washed out and kept clean, waiting for the two of them to return.

“You’d be right,” the Demon agreed, flopping down onto the loveseat, only rather than his typical sprawl, he sat with his elbows on his knees, hunched over, spine curving against his jacket. Even through the leather shell, Aziraphale was sure he could count more than a few of Crowley’s bones, that was how taut he was drawn. The redhead took his glass of shitty wine from Aziraphale with a mumbled thanks. 

“Before we start, because there are a few things I should probably tell you as well, would you-” Aziraphale’s heart beat hard in his chest as he considered his potentially rude request. He tried again, “Would you-”

“Spit it out, angel,” Crowley snapped, although there wasn’t any real malice in it. 

“Would you mind terribly-?” He gestured towards his eyes, hoping Crowley would know what he meant. Crowley huffed, but he nodded, slowly removing his sunglasses. He folded them and placed them gently on the desk, leveling Aziraphale with a disapproving sulfuric gaze. Aziraphale sighed happily. 

“Much better, my dear. I do love to see your whole face,” Aziraphale told him. 

“‘S’not natural. I’m pretty sure you’re s’posed to be afraid of them,” Crowley complained, taking a gulp of his drink. The demonic facade that he always projected was cracking, letting bits of his true personality through, and Aziraphale was hungry to see more of it. “They’re not supposed to be like this.” 

“I did assume that to be the case,” Aziraphale replied sarcastically. Crowley let out an inelegant snort. 

“No, even for- even for the Demons, they’re not supposed to look like this. Until we, um. Well, I can’t really explain it to you. But they’re supposed to look like normal human eyes. Mine- what I am, it’s kind of a halfway stage, so they’re not supposed to be like this until the final stage, I guess,” Crowley rambled. He took another drink.

“Tell me what led you to being this half-stuck creature,” Aziraphale said, carefully choosing the words that he allowed to pass his lips. He didn’t need to know the process, Anathema had already explained that, but he wanted to know what led _Crowley_ specifically to where he was. What caused this fall into darkness?

“You’re awfully calm. Formed some theories of your own, have you?” Crowley asked, and he unwound his tense body to lean back against the cushions in a more normal sprawl. Even though the loveseat was small, Aziraphale took this as an invitation and shifted from his chair to sit next to his friend. He bumped him out of the way with his hips, noting that Crowley continued to press their legs together once he was seated.

“I might have done. We can talk about that later, though. I want to hear about you, from your own mouth, what brought you to your current predicament,” Aziraphale said. Crowley huffed again, a long sort of sighing breath. 

“I didn’t want to, exactly. It was kind of a slow process,” Crowley admitted. His hell-yellow eyes met Aziraphale’s, regret lingering there. Immediately, Aziraphale wanted to comfort him, to offer some sort of hope to his friend.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t need to tell me, although I think I’ve been around comic books now long enough to know that there are often key elements in a hero’s backstory that could change the direction of the story,” Aziraphale offered, attempting to tease him. A corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched and his hand landed on Aziraphale’s thigh unexpectedly. 

“Trying to cure me, angel? There’s nothing you can do. It’s what I am,” Crowley murmured. The comic book seller in question felt his heart fracture at Crowley’s tone. It wasn’t proud or pitying or sorrowful- it was simply fact, as if his half-vampire state could not be altered, no matter what they tried. 

“Surely it can’t be as bad as that,” Aziraphale pressed. He put his own hand over Crowley’s. “You know I do love a good story.” 

Crowley’s lips twitched again, but didn’t quite smile. “I was sleeping with this woman.” 

Aziraphale snatched his hand away from Crowley’s, his lips opening in a tiny gasp. “Oh! Oh, my dear, I hope I haven’t done anything in-inappropriate. I’m a fool, I’d thought-” 

Now, the Demon was laughing, though, and he reached over to take Aziraphale’s hand back. “Oh, angel, your face. I don’t really- I like all sorts. You didn’t misread anything, if that’s what you’re assuming. And this woman, there weren't any emotional feelings there.” 

“I lived in a penthouse in this building on the beach, next town over. My uncle left it to me and I was drifting, didn’t really have much going on at the time. The couple beneath me had these kinky parties and they invited me-” Crowley shrugged. He gave Aziraphale’s hand a reassuring squeeze, although he thought perhaps that Crowley was comforting himself more than Aziraphale. “She was sort of sexy, I was bored, that’s how it was. Her husband was having an affair with his secretary anyway, and they were from D.C., only in town for the summer.

“I-well, nnn, I honestly don’t remember much about it. What happened, you know. One night, I was at one of the parties, completely shitfaced and then-” Crowley stared off into the distance, trying to remember through the haze of his mind, but then he shook his head. “I know there was someone there, someone- I don’t think I’m supposed to remember. Next thing I know, I’ve got this group of leather clad psychos following me around, telling me I’m marked or something. I couldn’t even leave the apartment. They were just always there.” 

“Except during the day,” Aziraphale said. Crowley nodded.

“Yeah, but let’s just say I’m not much of a morning person anyway,” Crowley admitted. He let go of Aziraphale’s hand, rummaging in his jacket for his pack of cigarettes. “You mind if I-?” 

“I rather do, actually.” Aziraphale stood, holding out hand to Crowley. “Let’s walk while you smoke. Is that- Would we be safe?” 

“As safe as we are anywhere. If they wanted in here, your little metal door wouldn’t stop them,” Crowley said. He slid one out of the pack, letting it dangle unlit from his lips, and took Aziraphale’s hand. Once they were outside, walking along the sand, Crowley lit the cigarette and continued his story.

“Where was I? Sleeping during the day, right?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale looked at him as he answered and was surprised to see Crowley’s glasses back in place. The man could be smooth when he wanted to be. Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed him put them back on. 

“Ah! Yes, I believe that’s where you left off. So the Demons were following you, but how did they catch you, my dear? You told me at the beginning you didn’t mean for this to happen,” Aziraphale said, trying to keep his pressing and questioning as light and friendly as possible, but his mind was already rushing, attempting to connect what Crowley was telling him to the information Anathema had given. 

“Harriet, the woman beneath me,” Crowley snickered as he realized how that sounded, “She had a son. One night there was a break-in in the building, the kid went missing. I was fond of him. Kids are neat, you know? You can tell ‘em stuff, they just take it all in as fact. They’re hilarious.” 

“That would be Warlock, wouldn’t it?” Aziraphale asked quietly. Crowley nodded and scratched the back of his neck nervously, lit cigarette dangling close to his hair. 

“Someone had to look out for ‘im. His parents weren’t going to.” Crowley took a jagged drag off of his cigarette before twisting the remaining tobacco and ashes into the wind, slipping the filter into the pocket of his tight jeans. “I asked questions. Still haven’t got any answers.” 

“Would you give it up? If you could?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. Crowley shrugged. 

“Ehh, being in the Demons? Sure. Having them try to control my every move _sucks_. But the other part…” Aziraphale didn’t exactly love the pause Crowley took. He blinked, knowing his eyes were probably as big as saucers as he waited for Crowley’s answer. He knew by the way Crowley wouldn’t meet his gaze, staring at the dark water instead, that he wouldn’t like the answer that was coming. 

“It just feels right sometimes. It’s what I am,” Crowley murmured. “It’s not something you just change.” 

Aziraphale felt his eyes glaze over and he pressed his lips together tightly, not wanting to do something so _foolish_ as _cry_ in front of Crowley. When he spoke, the stress had caused his voice to go breathy and soft. “Ah. Well. That’s that, then.” 

“Aziraphale-” 

No ‘angel’ this time? 

“It’s alright. I, ehm, I must be going. I have-” Aziraphale pulled away, putting purposeful distance between them. “I have very important, ahh, inventory. Yes, inventory. I must be going.” 

“Aziraphale, wait-” 

“No, Crowley. It’s alright. I’m just going to-” There were more nervous, fluttering hand gestures and Aziraphale swiftly leaving, half-jogging his way back to the shop. He was sure had Crowley followed, the Demon would’ve been able to catch up with him or stop him from leaving, but he didn’t follow and it broke Aziraphale’s heart. That Crowley would rather stay- stay as he _was_ , would rather _kill_ people to survive- It was-

It was enough to give Aziraphale a minor panic attack. 

The neon lighting in the shop cast a nasty bright glow on everything that agitated Aziraphale’s growing headache. He pressed a hand over his heart, taking in a few deep breaths. It had all been a mistake, hadn’t it? One big, giant- 

His eyes caught on the cover of one specific comic book. 

The bright yellow cover of Vampires Everywhere reminded him of Crowley’s eyes, with it’s sinister red lettering. Aziraphale reached, tugging the thin volume off of the shelf, flipping it open to the inside. 

_The Master Vampire_

Aziraphale gasped.

_The head vampire can be revealed through a series of tests…_

_Once he is vanquished, all remaining thralls will be converted to their original state…_

He closed the book, feeling his breaths coming in quickly as his heart rate picked up. If he could prove that Gabriel was the head vampire, perhaps enlist Tracy’s help, they would be able to save-

Aziraphale sighed sadly. But Crowley didn’t want to be _saved_.

Then, his resolve came back. Even if Crowley preferred a more murderous way of life, he wouldn’t want Warlock to continue down that path and Anathema would also be converted back to her human state. And if Crowley ended up back as a human, well. It was better than being dead, surely.

Nodding to himself, Aziraphale pocketed the comic and started his journey back home. He had a lot that needed to be planned and he was sure he would need Tracy’s help.

***

“In retrospect, my dear, perhaps we should have left Shadwell and Newt out of the invitation,” Aziraphale murmured sarcastically to Tracy, watching Gabriel attempt to sponge holy water off of his crotch while berating the older man.

He didn’t want to flatter himself to say that Gabriel jumped at the opportunity to have dinner with him, per se, but Gabriel certainly hadn’t played hard to get when Aziraphale called the store to ask him over. He feigned anxiety over the crowds and restaurants of Santa Carla and invited the prospective ‘master vampire’ to dine with him at Tracy’s home. Planning the evening with Tracy and Anathema, the idea was to have Aziraphale alone with Gabriel as a sort of bait and for Aziraphale himself to perform all the necessary tasks. 

Too much was riding on this to allow some amateurs to ruin it, and yet there they were. 

“I couldn’t leave you alone with him,” Tracy insisted in a harsh whisper. Gabriel was finally finished sponging himself off and was glaring at Aziraphale from across the room. He was not surprised when the irritated, forceful man grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards the door. 

“Well, sunshine, this was a complete failure, don’t you think?” Gabriel said, too cheerful for someone who’d been tortured by the most inept vampire hunters in history. Aziraphale grimaced as he was pulled outside and the door slammed shut behind them. 

“I’m extremely sorry, Gabriel. I thought Tracy was going out tonight. I had no idea she’d invited friends over,” he lied. He tried making his eyes large and pouty, hoping if he were apologetic enough that Gabriel wouldn’t think too poorly of him. He might not want to date the man but he also didn’t want anyone thinking he was as batty as Tracy could be. He wrung his hands together. “And I’d planned such a nice night for us.” 

Gabriel sighed, giving him a tight, patronizing smile. “Look. I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m willing to give it one more shot. Don’t ask me why.” 

“Oh, but that’s not-” 

The taller man flashed teeth that were too white, too perfect and he moved forward, crowding Aziraphale until his back was against the closed door. “Go out with me. Properly. Let’s go out, just you and me, no Tracy and company. Let me take care of you. You could be so much more than you are, Aziraphale, if you just give me a chance.” 

“Oh! Well, I don’t quite know what to say,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, although he was vaguely offended. Gabriel reached over and gave a gentle punch to Aziraphale’s chin. It should have been a charming, old-movie sort of gesture but it really came off as a dad correcting a naughty kid.

“You say yes and we go out,” Gabriel told him. Aziraphale nodded.

“I suppose, I, well. I shall have to think about it. We haven’t had the best track record,” Aziraphale replied. Gabriel nodded back, eyebrows raised.

“I’m good, Aziraphale. I’m real good and I could be great for you. Let me know what you decide.” 

Aziraphale let out a breath and nodded, giving Gabriel a tight attempt at a smile. “Thank you. I’ll certainly let you know.” 

He said his good-byes and went back into the house, closing the door behind him. “Good Lord.” 

Tracy hovered in the doorway separating the open living room and the dining room. “Well, that didn’t work, did it? I was so sure-”

“Yes, yes, you were so sure it was him,” Aziraphale told her, coming closer to watch Shadwell and Newt. Tracy had instructed them to start cleaning up the mess in the dining room. Holy water had been thrown, garlic had been switched out for parmesan- they’d even attempted to turn out the lights and hold up a mirror to him to see if he had a reflection, and every single test failed. “What idiocy. And I let you convince me-” 

“We’re not lying!” Newt insisted. He tossed his damp cloth onto the table, throwing up his hands. “They have my- my girlfriend! We need to do something.” 

“Yes, well, what something? We’ve thoroughly embarrassed a perfectly normal human with these tests and we have no leads on whoever the ‘head vampire’ truly is,” Aziraphale snapped, his voice going higher and higher as he spoke. He didn’t want to shout at them. It wasn’t entirely their fault. “We have no better ideas.” 

“Then we’ll have to kill them all,” Shadwell said with a shrug. He was sitting at the table with a mixing bowl of spaghetti, shovelling spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. When he spoke, bits of sauce dotted the white table cloth. “One of the gang is bound to be the main villain.” 

“We’d have to take the innocent ones out, first,” Newt added, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Anathema and Warlock.” 

“Even if he isn’t the head vampire, I still don’t like him. Gabriel is so obnoxious,” Tracy said, patting Aziraphale on the shoulder. 

“Very forceful,” Aziraphale agreed weakly. The evening had taken too much out of him, and they were no closer to saving the others than they had been before. “I’m not sure I’d make it through a whole dinner with him. I feel like he wants to eat me alive.” 

“Could be worse,” Newt said, shrugging as he retrieved his rag and resumed straightening up. 

Aziraphale’s temper flared, quick and bright, and he lashed out at the young man. “How, dear Newton? How could it possibly be worse? Both of our prospective partners have buggered off and signed their souls over to a coven of ruffian vampires!” 

Newt wilted a tiny bit, but he managed to stutter out, “You c-could be one?” 

He wanted to object, to propose that at least if he were one of the demons he’d be with the man he cared about. For eternity, even. Forever was a long time, and a life of blood-drinking and never being able to have real food again was not exactly appealing, but it was a nice thought. To not be alone. 

Aziraphale shook his head tiredly. He didn’t want to fight any more.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going up to bed. This has been a most trying evening,” Aziraphale murmured. He patted Tracy on her shoulder as he passed her. “Leave the dishes, dear. I’ll clean up in the morning. This was all my fault, anyway. I should be responsible for it.” 

“Oh, but-” 

Whatever she’d been about to say, he didn’t hear. He was already on his way up the stairs, hearing them creak under his weight. He felt every bit of his age. He paused by the bathroom, wondering if he should try for a bath. Would it relax him? 

No. He sighed. Bed. And hopefully sleepless dreams. 

He flicked on the light in his room and closed the door behind him. 

“Hey, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Next update should be 10/30. My work is very stressful right now so it might be 10/31, but I'm fairly confident 10/30.~~
> 
> Next update 10/31. MadMags and I are watching my film tonight (mentioned below) and I still have a sinus headache from _H E L L_ so I'm back to not being able to look at the screen. 
> 
> Previous Note: I'm super excited because I'm in a creepy little Halloween film for a local theater group and we get to preview it tonight before it premieres on 10/30! I give a really demonic performance so it's been really good fuel for writing this. Wish me luck! 
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	6. Temptation Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by MadMags
> 
> Semi smut without being smut? Is that a tag?

“Hey, angel,” Crowley said, nearly giving Aziraphale a heart attack. Then, the angel in question laughed out loud, smiling at Crowley’s sudden appearance. The long, lanky half-vampire lay on Aziraphale’s bed, legs crossed at the ankle, with his arms crossed behind his head. It made Aziraphale _want_ things. Naughty things. Like ravaging the man within an inch of his life.

Or, Aziraphale thought with a brow quirked, alternatively, being ravaged. 

“Have you just been sitting here in the dark, Crowley?” Aziraphale laughed. Crowley smirked. 

“ _No_ , I’ve been _laying_ here in the dark. It’s a pretty comfy bed, actually,” Crowley said, wiggling his hips. “You surprised?” 

Aziraphale blinked slowly, entirely focused on those slender, angular hips and their sarcastic writhing. “Yes. You certainly surprised me.” 

Crowley was too pleased with the expression on Aziraphale’s face, which needed to be rectified immediately. Aziraphale pursed his lips, putting on his best ‘school master’ voice, and said, “Boots off the bed, my dear.” 

Crowley’s lips parted, surprised, but still curling up at the corners. Oh, so he didn’t enjoy being ordered about by the Demons, but it seemed he didn’t mind it as much when it was Aziraphale. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs so his feet hit the floor. “How was dinner? Did you enjoy your date, _sunshine_?” 

“Don’t be horrid, Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded. His hands twisted together, then pushed downwards as he attempted to gather the courage to say what he was feeling. His heart beat hard in his chest. “If you must know-” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, if you must know, I’d have much rather been with you. Even if you weren’t actually dining. I’d much rather do almost anything with you than spend one more moment with that hideous egomaniac,” Aziraphale admitted. Crowley stood and took Aziraphale’s anxious hands in his own, stilling them mid-flight. Cool, thin fingers soothed substantial, overheated flesh.

“You didn’t seem to feel the same way the last time we spoke. Haven’t seen you for a few days. I thought I might have ruined it,” Crowley murmured, his voice soft. 

“It’s all rather a lot to take in, Crowley. I’m allowed to feel overwhelmed, as it were.” Aziraphale shivered as one of Crowley’s hands slid up to cup his neck, pressing their foreheads together. The ginger man pecked a kiss to Aziraphale’s round little chin. “To know that my newest- my newest _friend_ would rather be _damned_ than try to stay with me…” 

A sudden growl out of Crowley startled him into silence. 

“I can smell him on you,” Crowley hissed. “He touched you-” 

“Crowley. Stop, just a moment, dear.” Crowley pulled back a few inches, but Aziraphale’s soft hands cupped his sharp jaw to prevent him from going too far. “I have no objection to you ridding me of his scent, but your glasses. Please, take off your glasses.” 

Crowley’s fingers shook as he slid the offending lenses from his nose. “Angel- I-” 

Aziraphale hushed him, leaning in to press their mouths together. What began as a sinfully sweet kiss, with Aziraphale’s plush lips seeking out the brittle line of Crowley’s mouth, quickly deepened into something more urgent. Tongues met and slid together, bodies were so tightly pressed that it seemed they would merge into each other, becoming one energetic mass. Aziraphale pushed and pressed, inching Crowley back step by step, until the backs of Crowley’s knees knocked into the mattress. With one hand on Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale pushed him backwards onto the bed, smirking coyly down at him. 

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, eyes blowing wide with surprise. Aziraphale’s smug smirk only lasted a few moments, however. In a flash, an impish smile crossed Crowley’s face and, with inhuman speed, his long fingers had wrapped around the soft flesh of Aziraphale’s wrist and he tugged, pulling Aziraphale down to sprawl on top of him. The angelic blond let out an indignant yelp, which had the delightful effect of causing Crowley to cackle. 

“Startle you again, did I?” Crowley purred, before resuming his assault on Aziraphale’s mouth. The only answer he got was a low, appreciative moan. “Angel, angel-” 

Aziraphale arched his neck as Crowley’s kisses dipped lower, paying worship to his angel’s soft jawline. “You’re so fucking perfect.” 

Aziraphale gasped. “If you seek perfection, my dear, look in a-” 

He paused, stifling a giggle.

Crowley snorted against Aziraphale’s shoulder before nipping at him. Even with his shirt in the way, Aziraphale could feel the sharpness of Crowley’s teeth. “Fuck’s sake, angel, don’t say it.” 

Which didn’t stop Aziraphale from chuckling. He gazed lovingly down at Crowley, unable to remember the last time he’d had this much fun in a bed. Certainly not _this_ type of fun. “Can you? Can you look in a mirror?”

Crowley’s silence only spurred Aziraphale on. He giggled and pressed another kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “However do you style that impossible hair?” 

That earned him another snort from Crowley and a snap of his sharp, sharp teeth. “Oh, I’ll get you for that one!” 

He flipped them, pinning Aziraphale to the bed in a quick, fluid motion. Those serpentine hips wriggled again as he straddled the older man, continuing his kissing assault. Aziraphale’s mirth quickly transformed, giggles spreading out into moans as Crowley nosed along his throat. 

“You smell incredible,” he breathed along the tender flesh of Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley’s tongue flicked over his skin before suckling a mark there. “Why did you have him here? Why was he invited in?” 

“Really? Right n-ah!-now, that’s what you’d like to know?” Aziraphale asked. He was busy attempting to slide Crowley’s jacket off with trembling fingers, but the talented swirl of Crowley’s tongue was making it difficult to concentrate. 

“Yessss,” Crowely hissed, his own fingers working at Aziraphale’s tartan bow-tie. “How the fucking heaven do you get this thing off?” 

“Pull, dearest, like this-” 

“Oh, I’ll show you pulling alright,” Crowley promised, brandishing the long strip of the bow-tie as it slid free from Aziraphale’s collar. He leaned forward, causing both of them to groan as certain parts of their anatomy rubbed together, albeit clothed. He gathered Aziraphale’s wrists up and started to teasingly loop the bow-tie around them, pinning them above the blond man’s head. 

“Good _Lord_ ,” Aziraphale groaned, thrusting up with his hips. “Crowley, what-” 

“Why, angel? Did you imagine him doing this to you instead of me?” Crowley growled in his angel’s ear. “What did I say that sent you running to him?” 

“If you must know-oh! We were trying to kill him,” Aziraphale admitted, his eyes fluttering as Crowley landed another perfect roll into his hips. The undulating moves paused, however, and Crowley stared down at Aziraphale, turmeric stained eyes tinted with confusion. 

“You _what_?” 

“We thought he might, well. Be the one in charge. I was, well, trying to save you, I suppose,” Aziraphale admitted sheepishly. He could feel his eyes start to glaze over with shameful moisture. He wouldn’t cry, but there were tears threatening as guilt consumed him. “I tried to tell myself I was only thinking of the children. That Anathema and Warlock certainly- but you, but Crowley, it was you.”

Crowley’s breath left him in a huge huff. With a deft movement, he untwisted the bow-tie and let Aziraphale’s hands free. “Oh, angel. You’ve made a monstrous mistake.”

***

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted as he watched his lover flee from the bedroom window. He moved as quickly as he could, his feet stomping against wooden floorboards, until he was staring into the open, empty night. There was nothing but the sound of his own panting breaths. He spun, moving as quickly as he could to shove his feet back into his shoes, and then he ran as fast as his legs could possibly take him. He almost tumbled down the stairs, and the noise of it all had Tracy stumbling out of her own room, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Aziraphale?” she called after him, following him most of the way down the stairs.

“There isn’t any time!” he replied, throwing open the door. His heart felt ready to pound through his ribcage. Even though the fear that sent tremors through his limbs, his first and only concern was for Crowley. “Something happened, I just- I need to find him! Quickly!” 

“Find who?” Tracy asked, entirely bewildered. 

“Crowley. He was upstairs and we- I must go. I have to go,” Aziraphale insisted. Without his bow tie, and with this top buttons undone and neck littered with kisses, he presented a very worrying picture indeed. “There isn’t any time, I have to go.” 

“No, wait!” Tracy called after him, but he kept going. There was only one thing that mattered, and that was making sure Crowley was alright.

The cave was the first place he looked, even though he knew his Demon wouldn’t be there. The silken scarves around the bed fluttered in the breeze, but there were no signs of life. Not even Anathema or Warlock were there, and it chilled Aziraphale to the bone. What if something had pushed David to harm them in some way? Bile caused the back of his mouth to taste bitter and stale as he climbed the rickety steps, in the dark, with only a torch for light. He tried not to focus on the black waters swirling beneath him, spraying the sides of the cliff. One false step and it would be a sodden end to him, for sure.

It was late. The boardwalk was starting to empty, although dotted along the shore there were some lingering bonfires. The carnival rides were beginning to shut down, leaving vague, eerie echoes of calliope music to linger menacingly against the backdrop of creeping shadows. With nowhere else to look, Aziraphale decided to pass by his comic shop, in the hopes that Crowley might be hiding there. 

They were waiting for him.

Hastur and Ligur sat on the wall, smoking, grinning madly as he approached. Beez leaned between them, their arms crossed over their chest, watching Aziraphale with a bored look on their face. Bored, but somehow also warning him. And then there was their over-confident leader. The ‘Morningstar’. The bright, blond handsome child who was just trapping people in this hideous lifestyle. 

“Where is he?” Aziraphale demanded as he took the lapels of David’s jacket in his hand, pulling him close. Rage gripped his heart, flushing his cheeks. “I can’t find him anywhere. What have you done?” 

David waved Beez and the other two off with a single hand, before chuckling at Aziraphale’s small, angry display. His eyes were wide and manic with glee. “If you ever want to see Crowley again, you’ll come with us. Now.” 

“I shall do no such thing,” Aziraphale replied, shoving David. He was tempted to throw a punch. To bruise that perfect face. The other Demons were no longer smiling. Hastur and Ligur had both moved off the wall, hopping down to glare at him, and Beez hovered behind David in case he needed them, looking somber but ready for a fight. “Where are the others? What have you done to the rest of them?”

He got no answer other than a smirk from David. Their bikes were sitting ready just a few feet away, and David moved to get on his, the others falling in line behind him. The blond vampire glanced over his shoulder at Aziraphale and arched an eyebrow. A sick, twisting feeling settled in Aziraphale’s stomach as he realized David meant for him to get on the motorcycle.

Aziraphale shook his head.

David’s eyebrows both rose this time, and from the placid expression on the boy’s face, Aziraphale knew he didn’t have a choice. He slid onto the bike, wrapping his arms around David’s waist. 

He expected them to be going to the Cave again, but the ride was somewhere shorter and more remote. Sparse trees grew here, shielding a group of rowdy teenagers from view. They were gathered around a bonfire, listening to some sort of horrid, loud music and drinking. All of them were male. Aziraphale followed David and the others, sneaking up the dunes to look down on them. 

Aziraphale guessed, only mere moments before it happened, what David was planning.

It was a bloodbath.

It was messy and undignified. Fluids sprayed everywhere, teeth were crunched into skulls and the scent of burning flesh lifted into the air as pieces were tossed into the flames.

Aziraphale couldn’t stand to look anymore. He turned and found himself retching into the sea grass. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears as his blood rushed. Just as he was wiping a final string of bile-flavored saliva from his mouth, he heard David speak. 

“You’ll never get any older. You’ll never die, but you must feed,” David told him. His black coat flapped in the wind like the wings of a great bat. From within the depths of the garment, he withdrew the gold-encrusted wine bottle once more, holding it out. He studied their demonic faces, brows and cheeks swollen as if their very bones were attempting to escape their flesh. “Drink, Aziraphale. Become one of us.” 

“I- I’d much rather not,” Aziraphale managed weakly, his voice shaking but the resolve adding a hint of strength to his words. Beez’s serious, flat mouth finally cracked into a small smile. 

“If you don’t, we’ll kill you. And then we’ll kill him,” they said simply, their eyes glittering in the shadows. “That’s the choice you get.” 

“Wouldn’t it just be simpler to kill me at this point?” Aziraphale asked, still unwilling to take the bottle from David’s hands.

The blond youth shrugged, giving a carefree smile that was full of sharp teeth and malice. “That’s not in the ‘great plan’. But it can be, if you refuse. Don’t fight it, Aziraphale. Join us.” 

“And if I don’t-” 

“We told ya. Your little boyfriend dies,” Ligur snapped impatiently. Hastur snickered. 

“Oh, and who would care for the little kid without Crowley around?” he asked in a whining, sarcastic voice.

“Might be a tasty snack, I mean, if he’s not going to survive anyway-” Ligur replied. 

“Stop it!” Aziraphale interrupted, unwilling to bear the subject matter any longer. He reached his hand out, waiting for David to step closer with the bottle. “You win. I’ll- I’ll do it. Whatever you ask.” 

“At least we’re offering you the dignified way in, you prissy fag,” David said. When he handed the bottle to Aziraphale, his features had turned back into their soft, human form. His eyes crinkled with laughter as he watched Aziraphale open the ‘wine’. “It’s the right choice. Join us.” 

The others started chanting, softly echoing David’s sing-song tone. “Join us. Join us!” 

With a heavy heart, Aziraphale lifted the bottle to his lips.

***

It was dawn when Aziraphale came home, closing the door behind him to block out the sun’s first rays of light. He started to draw the curtains closed. Tracy was coming down the stairs, having waited up for him all night. There were deep bags under her eyes, and she wore no make-up. Her hair, which was permanently ratted into a helmet, was only unmussed because it was so thoroughly shellacked with Aqua-net at this point. He grimaced as he met her concerned eyes.

“Where did you go last night?” she asked him, tugging her robe tighter around her little body. He sighed.

“I can’t answer that.” 

“Aziraphale, I understand you’re a grown man but you’re my friend as well as a guest in this house. Please, tell me why you ran out of here like- like a bat out of hell!” she demanded, but also sort of begged. Aziraphale’s answering laugh was a cold one. 

“I went to try and find Crowley but,” he shrugged, sighing again, “it all went a bit pear-shaped.” 

“Are you alright?” she pressed. He shook his head. 

“No, my dear, I am not entirely sure I am. But I will be,” Aziraphale promised, satisfied with how dark the living room was. “First thing’s first, let’s start with a plan on how to extract Crowley and Anathema from their- their lair, as it were. I’ll feel better once they’re removed from those influences.” 

“Alright. I’ll go get Shaddy and Newt up,” Tracy said, starting back up the stairs. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. “What? They spent the night. I thought you might need a gang of your own.” 

“Excellent. I know where they sleep. Go and rally the troops, my dear,” Az said, giving her a weak smile. He heard her go back up the stairs, and then he dropped his head back against the sofa, unable to stay awake any longer.

***

It was hard finding his way back to the Cave during the daytime. He was already unfamiliar with the area and he was exhausted. The sun beat down on them, too bright, making the red-brown rocks of the bluff look ominous, as though they were made from flesh and bone.

“Are you going to be alright doing down there?” Tracy asked softly. She was guessing, and Aziraphale knew that neither Newt nor Shadwell had noticed what she was talking about. “You don’t have to. We can get them out for you. You could wait here.” 

Aziraphale watched as the other two checked each other. Where they had gotten those ridiculous outfits, entirely camouflage and with wooden stakes in some kind of belt around their shoulders, on such short notice, well. Aziraphale didn’t want to know. He nodded in their direction, making Tracy look at them. “I’ll be fine, my dear. I’m not letting you go down there with only them to look after you.” 

“I’m sure they’re, well. Maybe you’re right, sweetie,” she acquiesced, pursing her cherry-red lips. In the daylight, her frosted blue eyeshadow glittered around her shrewd gaze. Thankfully, he’d borrowed a pair of plastic sunglasses from her and they hid his own tired eyes. 

“I’ll be quite alright, Tracy. Don’t you worry,” he assured her, but he had to admit to himself that he was struggling. With Shadwell and Newt ahead of them, they began the descent. The rickety stairs had been threatening in the dark, but in the sunlight they were somehow moreso, as every rotted board or weakened nail was visible. Even with the glasses on, he squinted against the noon-day sun. He could hear Shadwell telling Newt about the ‘good old days’ as they approached the entrance to the cave. 

“What if I can’t _kill_ one?” Newt whispered, sliding his own glasses back up his nose. Sweat had broken out across his brow, causing his dark curls to stick to his forehead. “What if-” 

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Aziraphale instructed before Shadwell could reply. In truth, he wasn’t confident in their abilities, either. From what he understood, Shadwell professed to having been a vampire hunter his whole life but he very much doubted that he’d ever killed anything. Newt was drafted in after Anathema’s departure, so he hadn’t been in any actual danger before today. Aziraphale almost felt guilty for bringing them along. What if someone got hurt?

Just as it had been the night before, the cavernous underground foyer was almost empty, except this time Crowley, Warlock and Anathema were curled together, asleep on the bed in a puddle of limbs and blankets. Shadwell and Newt took off, going to explore further in, and Tracy called after them in a loud stage-whisper to be quiet. 

Tracy lifted Warlock into her arms, covering the little boy’s head with a blanket, motioning to Aziraphale that she was taking him out. Aziraphale nodded. He noticed Crowley’s glasses perched on the edge of the mattress, so he picked them up and slid them on the Demon’s face. 

“Whhnnnnggg-” 

“Shh, darling. We’re getting you out of here,” Aziraphale hushed, his arms probing under Crowley’s body to attempt to lift him.   
“Nngg, nno. The others. Take the others firsssst,” Crowley hissed, his voice thick with sleep. Aziraphale doubted that he’d even remember the conversation later. He didn’t want to obey- after all, Newt had strong opinions about getting Anathema out of there, but he also knew that Crowley wouldn’t be happy later if he knew. In the end, Tracy made the decision for him as she came back down from taking Warlock up to the car.

“Anathema, sweetness. Come along, honey, get up,” Tracy murmured, and Anathema stretched, rubbing her eyes. 

“What’s going on?” she mumbled, but it seemed she had the power to stand on her own feet, despite the sun-sleepiness. Her long hair was a tangled nest. 

“Change of plans. We’re getting you out of here,” Tracy said, guiding the girl towards the exit. Aziraphale sighed a breath of relief, as he wouldn’t have been able to leave Crowley. He lifted the slight man into his arms and followed, stumbling along the small bit of beach before attempting the stairs back up to the car. He could hear Tracy continuing to chatter to Anathema. 

“Into the car with them,” Aziraphale instructed. He settled Anathema in, watching as Tracy covered her face with a scarf, before placing Warlock between her and Crowley. He got in the back seat, too, as Crowley and Warlock barely took up the same space as one person would. He wrapped his arms around his skeletal vampire, placing his head on Crowley’s shoulders, feeling his eyes threatening to close. 

Without warning, there came an unnatural scream from far away, followed by some very human yelling in return and the thundering sounds of shoes on a wooden walkway. “Go! Go!” 

Aziraphale was aware of doors slamming shut and tires spinning on soft sand-dirt soil. Clouds of it permeated the air around them, and he knew Tracy was screaming about them going off the cliff before someone thought to reverse the car and turn around. He peeled his eyes open, wondering when he’d drifted off, to see Newt covered in some sort of disgusting, smelly red substance. 

Through all of it, Crowley didn’t wake. He stayed so unnaturally still in Aziraphale’s embrace that he could’ve been hugging a corpse. “Crowley-”

“They weren’t supposed to open their eyes and talk!” Newt was screaming at Shadwell while this was all taking place. 

The rest started to fade away as Az let his eyes slip closed, his hands firmly gripping Crowley’s arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will give points to whoever guesses correctly where I'm going with this because it's somewhere. 
> 
> I may try to power through my editing and post the remaining chapter tonight or tomorrow (11/1) because in addition to the dumpster fire that is my life, my laptop has started acting up. I don't want to promise anything, though, in case it crashes and I'm without a computer for a while. If you'd like to chat, feel free to message me on my Tumblr. I'll be around.
> 
> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	7. Thou Shalt Not Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone needs to thank MadMags because writing action scenes is my weak point (HATE it) and she cheerleaded me through the process. (as well as beta'd)

In a vague, dream-like way, Aziraphale sort of remembers carrying Crowely in from the car. There was a bit of a struggle getting them all in, but he remembers the feel of Crowley’s legs dangling as the entire group drug themselves upstairs, exhausted and afraid. He sort of remembers collapsing with the other half-vampires against the soft California-king mattress in Tracy’s room, falling into a deep sleep next to his demon friend. There were sentences that stood out as slumber took him, things like ‘needing to be prepared’ or ‘have to find holy water’, but if anyone had asked him, he wouldn’t have been able to figure out what they meant or who said them. 

Aziraphale woke, close to dark, wrapped around Crowely in a puddle of bodies that, somewhere, included Anathema and Warlock. Thin, cool fingers were probing into his white candy floss curls. 

“What did you do, angel?” Crowley fretted in a whisper, attempting not to wake the others. Aziraphale’s blue eyes found their way to Crowley’s face, but all he saw was his own reflection. 

“Of course you sleep in sunglasses, you ridiculous creature,” Aziraphale teased, hoping to deflect from what had transpired between himself and the Demons. He knew from experience that Crowley removed the glasses to sleep. 

“No, but what did you do?” Crowley asked again, his other arm wrapping tight around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling them together. 

“Never mind about that. You’re here now, and so are Anathema and Warlock. You’re safe here,” Aziraphale promised. It was more of a hope, really. He couldn’t promise that the walls of the Lodge would be enough to keep the Demons at bay. 

“Of course I’m going to worry about it. It’s you, angel. What did you do?” 

“What needed to be done,” Aziraphale said firmly. His own fingers traced the sharp edge of Crowley’s jaw. “They told me I’d never see you again. I’d have done anything they wanted. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m fine. You-” 

“We should check on the others, dear. I think something happened to them earlier, but I’m not entirely sure. It’s all very vague,” Aziraphale whispered. He pecked a kiss to the corner of Crowley’s mouth. “Newton was covered in some sort of red goo.” 

“Aziraphale-” 

“Both of you need to shut up,” Anathema complained. She sat up with a groan, cracking her neck on one side and then the other. She reached out to untangle her long skirts from around her legs. “It’s too early to be talking. Should be sleeping.” 

“According to the clock, dear girl, it’s nearing six-thirty in the evening,” Aziraphale pointed out, nodding at the glaring scarlet letters of the digital alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. He decided to sit up as well, pulling out of Crowley’s embrace. His head was reeling and it made him feel a bit dizzy. “We should probably prepare ourselves for some sort of retaliation.” 

“Yeah. They’ll probably come for us, especially since we’re with you,” Anathema agreed. She slipped out of bed and then turned, picking up Warlock. The sleepy boy protested but settled against her shoulder. “Are you coming Crowley?” 

“Yeah, give us a sec,” Crowley told her. She nodded and took the boy out, leaving them alone for the moment. Crowley reached up and took his glasses off, gazing at Aziraphale with his bright demon tainted eyes. Then, he slid off the bed and stood, offering a hand out to his angel. He pulled him to his feet and tugged him close, nosing along Aziraphale’s soft throat. He inhaled deeply. “Angel.” 

Aziraphale put a hand to Crowley’s chest. “Later. After whatever trial is coming. Let’s just wait until we’re safe.” 

Crowley smirked down at him, one of his hands stroking Aziraphale’s cheek. Unlike Gabriel’s chin tap, this was a genuine gesture that made Aziraphale’s stomach flutter with butterflies. “We could always run away. Go somewhere they’d never find us.” 

“And where would that be?” Aziraphale asked, eyebrows raised. “They have more time than we do, my dear. We’d never out run them.” 

“We could try,” Crowley said softly. His arms reached around Aziraphale’s waist, cradling him close. “I’d do anything to keep you safe.” 

“Fighting our own battles and doing what’s right by our friends _is_ keeping me safe. We will win, you know. We must,” Aziraphale insisted. He beamed up at Crowley. “I have faith in us.” 

Crowley pretended to gag at the word ‘faith’. “At least one of us does.” 

“Quite.” Aziraphale smiled softly, eyes crinkling around the corners. “You foul demon.” 

“That’s me.” Crowley winked, sliding his glasses back onto his face. His red hair fell across his forehead and Aziraphale reached up to brush his fingers through it, straightening it up a bit. “A kiss to last me, maybe?” 

“I suppose I can spare you one,” Aziraphale tutted, pretending to be put out. He brushed their lips together softly, and then more firmly, deepening the kiss as his own need took over. “Oh, Crowley.” 

“Break it up, you two, we’ve got trouble!” Anathema said, coming swiftly back into the room with Shadwell, Newt and Tracy at her heels. “These bozos killed Beez.” 

“Holy fuck,” Crowley swore, jaw dropping. “Killed? As in-?” 

“Staked right through the heart, exploded all over me,” Newt said, pushing his spectacles up on his nose. “The- The Beez screamed, and that woke up all the other ones. They started to come after us, but there was some sun peeking through the cave and they, you know. Burned a little, but they aren’t dead.”

“They’re going to be _pissed_ ,” Anathema said, arms crossed under her chest. “What were you even thinking?” 

“I was trying to rescue you,” Newt mumbled with a shrug. “If we kill the head one, then the half vamps go back to normal. So we just figured, kill ‘em all and one of them would have to be the leader.” 

“It was quite nasty. I haven’t had to get blood stains like that out in a long time,” Tracy said. 

“Quiet, Jezebel!” Shadwell snapped, but he looked as rattled as the rest of them. “You’re lucky we didn’t stake you, wench. If y’ask me-” 

“Which we didn’t,” Anathema reminded him.

“If y’ask me, we should’ve killed the lot of you, to hell with bringing you back here. Now we’re all going to die,” Shadwell grumbled. 

“You talk a big game, Shaddy, but we know as well as you do that talking about killing something is much easier than actually killing something.” Tracy reached out to pat his shoulder, batting her false lashes at him in a way that seemed to calm him down slightly. “Now, we’ve spent the day gathering weapons so we’re a little better prepared. We’ve got loads of holy water and stakes.” 

“Yes,” Newt said, perching on the edge of the bed. “And we even got all the garlic the supermarket had, you know, just in case.” 

“Garlic won’t work against them, but it’s a good try,” Crowley murmured. His hand reached out to twine his fingers with Aziraphale’s, giving it a squeeze, trying to reassure both of them.

“I know they’re technically murderers, and animals, but I feel quite bad about killing them. Are you sure there’s no other way?” Aziraphale asked. 

“They’re not coming over here tonight for a tea party, angel. It’s self defense at this point,” Crowley told him. The phone next to Tracy’s bed started to ring causing all of them to jump with surprise. Tracy let out a nervous giggle, and with a hand over her heart to steady herself, she picked it up.

“Hello?” she said into the phone. “Oh… Oh, yes, he’s here. Hold on.” She held the phone out towards Aziraphale, whispering loudly, “It’s Gabriel.” 

“What now?” Aziraphale asked, taking the phone and pointedly ignoring the gagging noises Crowley and Anathema started to make. “Hello, Gabriel, now is not-” 

“Hey, sunshine! I was just wondering-” 

“I’m sorry to interrupt but Gabriel, this isn’t really-” Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes, even through the glasses, and abruptly realized what he’d been about to say and how it sounded. The sentence 'this isn't really a good time' meant he'd want to speak to Gabriel later, which he didn't. “That is to say-” 

“You don’t want to pass up an opportunity like this, Aziraphale. I was wondering if you were free-”

“Gabriel! You are not listening! I- I find you abhorrent!” Aziraphale said, breaking the never ending monologue that was every time Gabriel opened his mouth. He looked over at Crowley, allowing himself to smile at his lover’s face. “On top of that, I- I’m in love with Crowley. Utterly and completely.” 

It was worth it for the expression on Crowley’s face. His jaw dropped, and his fingers twitched at his side. Aziraphale’s smile widened, and he knew it meant that either Crowley was reaching to take off his glasses but had stopped himself or he’d almost pulled Aziraphale into a hug. Or both. 

As for the other people in the room who’d born witness to Aziraphale’s confession, Tracy was beaming, with her hands clasped over her heart. Anathema, clever girl that she was, had taken Newt’s hand and pulled him from the room in order to give them a bit more privacy. Shadwell just continued his disgusted grumbling until Tracy smacked him on his shoulder. 

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel’s exasperated voice said down the line, “You don’t know what you want.” 

“I can assure you, I do. And what I want is an impossible, ridiculous ginger creature who wears sunglasses at night,” Aziraphale said. A bright smile spread over his face as he spoke, his eyes never straying from Crowley. “Now, good-bye, Gabriel. Best of luck.” 

“Aziraphale!” 

But the angelic blond was settling Tracy’s cheap plastic phone back into it’s cradle with a satisfying click. He took a breath to say Crowley’s name but that wasn’t what they heard when he opened his mouth. 

They heard a blood-curdling scream.

“That’s Ana!” Tracy gasped, pulling Shadwell into the hall. The cowardly streak that hid within the gruff man raised it’s head as he protested going in the direction of danger.

“We can’t just barge in-” 

“Of course we can, she’s our friend, you doddering old fool!” Aziraphale snapped. Both he and Crowley tore off in the direction of Ana’s scream as a second one rang out. 

“Downstairs,” Crowley snapped, running quickly ahead, leaving Aziraphale to keep up. He went as fast as he could, wondering if Tracy and Shadwell would follow. They passed Ana on the stairs, coming back up, dragging Newt along with her. 

“They- they were- they were in the kitchen,” she panted as she passed them. She smacked at Newt’s shoulder. “Then this idiot screams and gives away our hiding place!” 

“Hey!” 

“How did they get in? I thought you had to invite them?” Aziraphale asked. A laugh echoed throughout the large, open living space before the room was plunged into darkness. Another shriek let out and Aziraphale knew this time it was Newt, not his girlfriend. He heard their footsteps as they continued their way up the stairs and down the hall towards the bedroom. 

“You do. Must’ve been one of the others,” Crowley said. He reached out to grab Aziraphale’s hand as several loud crashes came from upstairs. 

“Is it too late to run away together?” Aziraphale asked jokingly. He could see the shadow of Crowley move towards him just before their lips slammed together desperately, one last attempt at a kiss before the end. 

“No, but you’ll probably feel guilty about it for a while if we don’t help them, which means I’d have to listen to you go on and on. You’d whine about it forever,” Crowley teased, but it was a weak attempt. He was just as worried for the others as they were. “Come on, angel.” 

“You’re entirely correct, my dear. Let’s go help our friends,” Aziraphale replied, deciding to leave the vampires in the kitchen for later. The sinister laugh echoed through the room again.

“Going somewhere, boys?” David chuckled, just before shoving Aziraphale down the dark staircase. 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called, but he soon joined his beloved, sprawled on the wooden floor of the living room with the wind knocked out of his lungs. There was a skittering noise as Crowley’s eyeglasses skidded across the floor only to be crushed under Hastur’s boot. Crowley glared up at him. 

“Hassstur,” he hissed. Aziraphale’s bleary eyes sought Crowley out in the dark before realizing they weren’t alone. Hastur’s twisted, demonic face grinned down at them. 

“You shouldn’t’a killed Beez, Crowley,” Hastur ground out, landing a swift kick to Crowley’s stomach. Aziraphale couldn’t see much, other than Crowley clutching at his stomach, and then the shadows across his face when he looked back up at Hastur. His features had changed, just as the Demons’ had, with his pronounced brow and cheeks leaving his eye sockets camouflaged in shadows. 

“Drop dead, Hastur,” Crowley said, but they were interrupted by a disturbing sloshing sound coming from the kitchen. Red liquid spattered and sprayed against the windows of the swinging doors, erupting from every pipe in the house. Toilets were burbling, sinks were spraying, that same thick goo that Newt had been covered in. Hastur’s panicked eyes looked up the stairs, knowing exactly what that was. 

“Ligur! I’ll kill those little fuckers!” He stepped on Crowley and Aziraphale both to get over to the stairs and disappeared up into the shadows without a sound. 

Aziraphale scooted closer to Crowley, wrapping an arm around him. “Crowley, are you alright?” 

“Fine, angel,” Crowley wheezed. “Just peachy.” 

“Come along, dear. We should-” Just as Aziraphale had managed to get himself to his feet, he found himself knocked back into a wall, just as breathless as he’d been when he’d been pushed down the stairs. From the rafters, David’s laugh echoed.

“Forget about me? I’m hurt,” the Demon’s voice called down to them. His laugh made it sound like he was everywhere. 

“It’s easy to do with you lurking in the shadows like a coward,” Aziraphale remarked sarcastically, pushing himself up again. This time, when Aziraphale moved to help Crowley to his feet, he found himself thrown across the room, skidding towards the taxidermy studio on his stomach with the wind knocked out of him.

“Angel!” 

David went for Crowley, pushing him again before turning him and slamming him into a wall. “Come on, Crowley. Save your boyfriend.” 

“Crowley, don’t!” Aziraphale called out. David chuckled and dropped the half-vampire, sauntering towards Aziraphale. His coat billowed out around him. Aziraphale looked around him for any kind of weapon. In a fit of desperation, he lunged for the set of brass tools next to the fireplace, hoping the poker would suffice in lieu of a stake, but David was faster. With a lunge of his own, his hand was around Aziraphale’s ankle, pulling him down onto the floor so hard his head cracked against the wood. 

He saw sparks, not just behind his throbbing eyes but in real time as well since every electronic in the house had decided to take that moment to explode. Loud music came from somewhere upstairs, along with a ghoulish screaming, and the house was plunged even further into darkness. Aziraphale hadn’t thought it possible for him to see even less than he already could, and he crawled towards the end table, snagging the lamp that was there. The bulb was still warm from the sudden power surge, but luckily it snapped on for him. 

“Hastur,” David’s voice whispered from the rafters.

“You alright?” Crowley asked from closer than Aziraphale remembered him being. When the light found his lover’s face, he almost dropped it. Crowley as a vampire, as a real Demon, was horrifying. The shadowy lumps he’d seen before were nothing compared to the stark reality of sharp teeth and misshapen flesh. 

“Tickety boo,” Aziraphale managed, causing Crowley’s monstrous face to give him a very pitying look. 

“I highly doubt that, angel,” Crowley whispered. They were huddled behind the sofa in the center of the room, waiting for the next assault from David. 

“He’s one of us, Crowley. Let him fight his own battles,” David called down to them with a snickering giggle. He soared down, clawed hands reaching for Aziraphale.

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” Crowley moved so quickly Aziraphale had a hard time keeping his eyes on him, whipping David towards the taxidermy room. They struggled for a few moments while Aziraphale, who was feeling just a mite dizzy, pushed himself up. 

He needed a weapon, literally any weapon. 

“Give in, Crowley. You love this,” David said as they struggled. He held Crowley aloft, with Crowley’s hands locked on his forearms.

“Nngg, yeah, no. Not loving this part, to be honest,” Crowley attempted at a joke and it ended up with him being thrown across the room. As much as Aziraphale wanted to go to him, it was imperative that they find a way of killing David. 

He didn’t know if he had it in him, to be honest. He’d never killed anything before.

He didn’t have a choice. 

David swung Crowley towards the taxidermy room, where large antlers waited on the table to impale the victor of the fight. He was hissing into Crowley’s ear, “You can’t win-” 

“Maybe not alone,” Aziraphale said, rushing behind Crowley to grab David’s coat. Together, they twisted him and flung him back against the table, a large set of antlers plunging through his back with a sickening squelch. 

Aziraphale watched as the poor boy screamed, and then was quiet and still. Even in death, David had been beautiful.

“Crowley-” 

Footsteps from upstairs announced the others, running down towards the scene of the final death. Aziraphale found himself pulled, tucked behind the sliding doors, shielding Crowley from their view. 

“Nothing’s changed, angel,” Crowley growled, leaning his head down on Aziraphale’s shoulder from behind, hiding his face. Through his shirt, Aziraphale could feel the bony protrusions of Crowley’s warped face. 

“But that was the last one,” Aziraphale whispered. 

“He’s right, though. I don’t feel any different, either,” Anathema said. She was the first in the group to come in, staring at David for a long moment before meeting Aziraphael’s eyes. Her dress was sticky and red, and her hair was in tangles. Newt stood behind her, looking just as bewildered. “Tracy took the blond one upstairs out with an arrow to the chest. Sorry, Aziraphale, but the stereo in your room is toast.”

“Quite alright, I’m sure,” Aziraphale replied nervously. The stereo hadn’t been his and he didn’t even notice it was there. “And Ligur?” 

“Dog pushed him into the bath of holy water. Blood went everywhere,” Newt told him. He couldn’t help but notice the poor boy was equally as covered as Anathema in that sticky red substance, with his hair matted down onto his face. His own glasses were missing. 

“There must still be one more, then,” Anathema whispered, shaking her head. “I can feel it.” 

The front door opened, and Anathema and Newt turned to look at the intruder, wondering who could possibly be coming in at a time like this. 

“What are you doing here?” Newt asked, wincing, although that might have been him trying to see without his glasses. 

“I was looking for Aziraphale. What’s going on in here? Looks like a bitchin’ party,” Gabriel’s enthusiastic voice said from the direction of the door. Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Anathema glanced over at him, questioning silently what she should do, and Aziraphale just shrugged. At this point, there was no hiding the dead body on the table of the workroom. 

“He’s not home,” Anathema lied, elbowing Newt.

“Oh, um, yeah, he’s not here,” Newt agreed. He was so unconvincing that Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

“Not to be rude but, um, this house is a mess,” Gabriel scolded, and Aziraphale could hear him clap his hands together. Crowley’s arm wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling them closer together, as Gabriel’s measured footsteps came closer. “When you guys throw a party, you really throw a party, huh?” 

Anathema and Newt both stepped out of the taxidermy room to try and stop him from entering, but the broad man had already passed them, looming over David’s body. His hand reached out, tilting David’s chin upwards. He sighed. 

“God, David, I told you to behave,” Gabriel muttered. Crowley’s head snapped up and he and Aziraphale exchanged a _look_. Gabriel tutted, and when he turned, he was staring right at them. “I apologize, sunshine. I warned you, though, that these guys play a little rough.” 

Aziraphale and Crowley backed up, joining Anathema and Newt in the living room, all four of them staring at Gabriel. Aziraphale shook his head, glancing between Crowley and the impossibly clean-cut video store owner. “You can’t be the head vampire. You-” 

Gabriel squinted and pursed his lips in the sarcastic imitation of a smile. “The number one rule, Aziraphale, is don’t invite a vampire in. It renders you powerless. But uh, as pretty as you are, you’re not the brightest duck on the pond.” 

Anathema looked up at Newt with accusing eyes. “Did you know that?” 

“Uh-I uh..” 

“Now,” Gabriel clapped his hands together, like a CEO about to start a board meeting, “down to brass tacks as we used to say. I still, for whatever reason, want you Aziraphale.” 

“What a winning proposition,” Aziraphale muttered sarcastically, very nearly rolling his eyes. His anxious fingers fluttered as he considered his options. “I still, respectfully, decline.” 

Gabriel cracked his neck, and as his head tilted his features changed like the others, teeth sharpening into fangs. He grinned, his yellow eyes bright and eager. “It’ll be great, sunshine. You, me, eternity. You could get rid of that stupid little shop you play in. No one reads books anymore, all the real money is in videos-”

“Gabriel!” Aziraphale said sharply, cutting through yet another long monologue. “You aren’t listening to me! I will never, in any version of this story, want to be with you.”

“Okay, I know, I know, you’re into that whole ‘play hard to get’ thing, but I’m telling you that you don’t have to,” Gabriel said, stepping closer with one of his hands held out. “Come on, sunshine.” 

“No! Now, I really must insist you-you- _fuck off_ ,” Aziraphale said, his brows drawing with frustration. He put himself between the master vampire and Crowley, but he didn’t like how Gabriel was inching closer and closer to him. Later, Crowley would tell him how utterly amused and delighted he’d been to hear Aziraphale swear, but that was for another, less urgent time. 

“It’s too late,” Gabriel insisted, and he came closer again. “My blood is in your veins.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and shared an unimpressed look with Crowley before shaking his head. “No, it isn’t.” 

Gabriel paused in his tracks. “But- But you did the ritual. David and the rest saw you drink from the bottle. You’re one of us.” 

“Ah! That. Well, bad news, there was a bit of a switch, actually,” Aziraphale said. He noticed out of the corner of eye as Anathema started to move, slowly stepping towards the fire tools he’d been aiming for earlier. She was close enough to grab, having taken advantage of no one paying attention to her this entire time. What a brave, delightful young woman. 

“Yeah, mate,” Crowley drawled in that nasal way he had. “That was Kool-aid. Your lot have shit noses. Well. Had.” 

Gabriel snarled, and he lunged at Aziraphale. Crowley was quicker, closer, striking out like a viper. Sadly, Gabriel did have width and height on him, not to mention being a full fucking vampire rather than just a half one. In a matter of seconds, he’d practically tossed Crowley’s skinny behind back into the taxidermy room. Fearing for Crowley’s safety, Aziraphale darted forward only to get snatched up in Gabriel’s arms. 

“Don’t fight,” Gabriel said, snapping his teeth at Aziraphale’s very human throat. He whispered, so quietly that only Aziraphale heard, “You already can’t save him. He’s killed, even if the blood was wasted. Join us. Be like him.” 

Aziraphale struggled in his grasp, praying for any kind of help.

The brass fire poker came down with a loud crack onto Gabriel’s skull. He dropped Aziraphale and cradled his head for a moment, glaring at Anathema. Thankfully, she had the wherewithal to continue her assault and she shoved the blunt instrument through his chest. Together, she and Newt pushed him towards the fireplace.

A flaming arrow stabbed through Gabriel’s leg, lighting him on fire. 

In the span of just a few seconds, several things happened. Aziraphale crawled to Crowley’s body, shielding his lover from the explosion of flames that Gabriel’s dying corpse sent into the room. He noticed Anathema and Newt, cowering behind the sofa, shielding themselves from the blast. On the stairs, Tracy and Shadwell were watching it all unfold. Tracy held a bow and arrow in her hands, and Shadwell had been in the process of lighting another arrow. 

As the flames died down, Anathema popped up from behind the sofa, patting herself all over. She grinned down at Newt. “It’s over! It’s finally over!” 

He yelped and hopped up to his feet, giving her a tight squeeze that lifted her into the air. As the others started celebrating, including Warlock, who had popped out of wherever he’d been hiding, Aziraphale looked down at Crowley. His face had returned to normal, but there was a grimace hiding within his brave smile. 

They would have a lot to talk about, indeed. But later.

As Aziraphale turned back to the others, feeling Crowley’s arm drape over his shoulders, he heard Tracy say, “The only downside to living in Santa Carla was all the damned vampires.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


	8. Thou Shalt Not Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, MadMags, for being my beta as usual. 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has left kudos or commented. I truly didn't expect so many of you to like this story and I just appreciate it so much.

In a sleepy little bookshop in the not-so-sleepy Soho, an angel was dreaming. There was dust- oh! Not in the dream, of course, but over the shelves of the mysteriously, chaotically categorized books that were crammed onto every surface. Even though the angel had only been in possession of this particular bookstore for a year, the dust cloud that seemed to follow him everywhere he went had settled over the merchandise almost immediately. It was often said by his closest friends that anything that came in contact with him immediately became worn and yet somehow cared for. And yes, dusty. There were also empty, normal-looking bottles of wine in the bin and mugs full of cocoa residue in the sink waiting to be washed. 

Most annoyingly, there was a phone on the first floor and it was ringing loud enough that it could be heard, quite offensively, on the second. 

In the pitch-black room above the bookshop, an angel was waking. Aziraphale had always been a light sleeper, so the loud ringing was just enough to pull him out of a most delightful dream involving Crowley and a decadent dark chocolate trifle. He knew if he didn’t answer it, the phone would just continue ringing. He had a feeling he knew who was calling him and they were persistent enough to hang up and call back, so he pried himself out of the iron grasp of the slender arms around him and threw off the duvet. He shivered. Old bookshops were horribly drafty. 

He groped around in the dark room until his plump fingers grasped the soft fabric of his dressing gown. Crowley had laughed at the sight of it, making several snide remarks about how he looked like the Ghost of Christmas Present when he wore it, but he never seemed to object to peeling it off Aziraphale at any given moment. Belting it at the waist, he tip-toed out of the room so as not to wake his lover, muttering a, “blasted woman”, under his breath as he went.

The flat was equally as dark as the bedroom, but Aziraphale knew it well enough to navigate without turning on any lights. He did stub his toe on the way down the dark, narrow stairs. Halfway down, he paused.

The phone had stopped ringing. And it hadn’t started up again. 

Aziraphale waited, hoping he might be able to go back upstairs. Just as he was about to turn and go back to bed, the phone started ringing again.

Blasted woman, indeed.

With a sigh, Aziraphale continued his journey down the stairs. 

He flicked on one lamp, even though he probably didn’t need the light down here, either. He knew every square inch of his book shop by heart, just as he knew each book within it. 

“Hello, sweetie!” Tracy’s musical voice rang out before he could even protest that the shop was certainly closed. 

“Good evening, my dear,” Aziraphale said, stifling a yawn. “How are you?”

“I’m just peachy, doll, but oh, I hope I didn’t wake you! It shouldn’t be too late your time, I double checked before calling,” Tracy tutted. “Were you sleeping?” 

“Ah, just a bit of a nap,” Aziraphale told her. “It was a rather dreary day. Perfect for hot tea and curling up with a good book.” 

“That’s just like you. Well, it’s sunny here, as usual. Don’t you miss it? Just a tiny bit?” Tracy asked. Aziraphale let out a low chuckle. 

“I’m quite happy to be back on familiar stomping grounds. As much as I appreciate your love for Santa Carla, I must confess I only miss being able to see you every day. The rest I can quite do without.” Aziraphale looked around the shadowy bookstore, his heart brimming with more happiness than he’d ever known. It wasn’t the same shop he’d had before the divorce, but Crowley had found something very similar and they’d pooled their resources to purchase it. Then, he’d set about filling it with all the books he loved. Crowley still wasn’t much of a reader, but he didn’t mind sitting in the back room some nights, his head pillowed on Aziraphale’s plush thighs, listening to his angel read aloud from whatever book he was working his way through at the time. The icing on the cake had come a few months after they purchased the building in the form of Aziraphale’s ex wife Claudia happening across them as they were snogging against the front door*.

(* Aziraphale is not usually a fan of public displays of affection but dinner that evening had been 1. At the Ritz, 2. Entirely scrumptious, and 3. Very… appetizing indeed.) 

“Anathema and Newt send their love,” Tracy was saying and Aziraphale realized he hadn’t quite been listening to her. “Anathema says to tell Crowley hi and that you’re both invited to their wedding next summer. They can’t decide if it’s going to be Superman themed or occult themed, but I’m sure they’ll work it out. They’re young and in love.” 

Aziraphale, having decided that he was utterly rubbish as a comic book store owner, had sold the shop to Newt at a very reasonable price. It wasn’t exactly thriving, but it was doing considerably better under the new management. Young Newton certainly knew more about the merchandise than Aziraphale ever had. Aziraphale smiled at the mention of their wedding. 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure Crowley and I will try to make it there. You know travel is a bit pricey these days, especially as a new business owner-” 

“Aziraphale, you’re hardly a new business owner. You’ve done this several times before,” Tracy scolded him, but she continued on, prattling about how Warlock had managed to visit and how the Them were getting so tall that they all outgrew their little gang jackets. Aziraphale listened patiently for a while, but for the most part, it washed over him. He was genuinely happy that the nightmare that had plagued the little beach community of Santa Carla was over. The children were safe, Anathema and Newt were getting married. There was even-

“And you just have to come in for their wedding because you’ve missed mine,” Tracy sulked, waiting for Aziraphale’s response. He beamed, his eyes going wide with surprise.

“You didn’t! Tracy, you never told me you were engaged.” 

She cackled with delight and he could hear the faint jingling of her bracelets as she held the phone. He did miss her so. “It was very spur-of-the-moment. Dear old Shaddy and I went to Las Vegas a few weekends ago and well, that was that!” 

Aziraphale chuckled at the image of the two in Las Vegas, probably getting married by an Elvis impersonator. The idea really suited them, actually. “Well, congratulations, my dear. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do need to see to supper for us. I’ll tell Crowley you said hello.”

“Yes, please, sweetie. Love you! Miss you!” 

Aziraphale made kissing noises at her as he hung up the phone and then chuckled once more to himself. He really ought to get dressed. It was hardly proper walking around the shop in just a robe, but they were _definitely_ closed and at this hour he doubted anyone would be looking in the windows. He went back into his office, the back room where he and Crowley spent many nights drinking and bickering over a wide array of subjects. It was a cozy place, much better than his neon-lit comic book store, where he was surrounded by the most precious books in his collection. 

He settled himself at his desk, deciding to get a bit of reading done as he waited for his sweet demon to wake. Even with a novel opened in front of him, he couldn’t help but stare at a frame sitting on the edge of the surface. Crowley had teased him mercilessly for a few days when he first framed the photograph, but it was too much a part of their history not to be displayed. He placed his book aside and picked up the frame, stroking his broad fingers over brass filigree. The paper inside was creased, and it was certainly a grainy photograph. Crowley no longer wore white and he still, more often than not, had his sunglasses on to cover his amber colored eyes, but he was also no longer ‘missing’ or ‘lost’. He’d been quite found by one pale, soft and angelic book shop owner.

Thin arms slid around Aziraphale’s shoulder, with a bony chin coming to rest on his head. A quick kiss was pressed into fluffy curls.

“Why stare at that old photo when you’ve got the real thing right here?” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale smiled and put the picture aside, tilting his head up. It had the unfortunate side effect of making Crowley’s chin dig even harder into his head. 

“I didn’t expect you up yet,” Aziraphale said with a happy sigh. Crowley grinned down at him.

“Couldn’t help it. That phone is a menace,” he said. He pressed another kiss, this time to Aziraphale’s cheek, before moving to sprawl over his sofa. He rolled his neck and Aziraphale could hear the tense pops of joints, but also a contented sigh. 

“Ah, yes. Tracy sends her love. Anathema and Newt are getting married and we’ve been invited,” Aziraphale told him. He took in the sight of Crowley, in the dimly lit back room of their bookshop, wearing those black silk pajamas that he loved to rip off of him any chance he got.

“Unless it’s an evening affair we’ll have to wiggle out of that one,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale nodded with his lips pursed. 

“I already suspected as much, my dear.” 

“You know, it’s alright if you don’t want to. Or, at least for a few years,” Crowley said, but it was an old argument between them and Aziraphale was already shaking his head. "It's just that I know you're going to miss so many things, angel. People, too." 

“No, no, Crowley, I’ve told you. It’s happening,” Aziraphale insisted. He attempted to change the subject. “Tracy and Shadwell eloped to Las Vegas, so we managed to miss that invitation.” 

“Hmm, the city of _sin_ ,” Crowley said with a grin. He closed his eyes, still a little sleepy from being woken up so early in the evening. “Please tell me they were married by an Elvis impersonator.” 

“I confess, I had that same thought,” Aziraphale laughed. He watched Crowley stretch and get comfortable on the sofa, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky. “My dear, are you sure that you’re sure? After all-” 

“Oh, no, no, don’t start this again, angel, or I really will change my mind. Yes, you’re perfect, yes, I think you’re beautiful, and there’s honestly no other person I’d rather spend eternity with,” Crowley scolded, having had this argument several times over the last few months. When he opened his eyes again, the amber had been replaced with a familiar yellow rimmed in red. “If you don’t stop this instant, I’ll make you.” 

Aziraphale’s lips quirked up in a coy, smug little smile. “Well, my dear. If you insist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr ](https://madrabbitsociety.tumblr.com)  
> or on my [ My Blog ](https://www.madrabbitsociety.com/p/insta-links.html)


End file.
